THE  GIFT  OF 

FLORENCE  V.  V.  DICKEY 

TO  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


THE  DONALD  R.  DICKEY 

LIBRARY 
OF  VERTEBRATE  ZOOLOGY 


WILD     LIFE 

IN  THE 

TREE    TOPS 


THE   RABBIT'S   CONTRIBUTION 


(Sue  jiage  144.} 


WILD  LIFE 
IN  THE  TREE  TOPS 


B7 

CAPT.   C.  W.   R.   KNIGHT 

M.C.,  F.R.P.S.,  M.B.O.U. 


FIFTY-THREE      ILLUSTRATIONS      FROM 
PHOTOGRAPHS  TAKEN  BY  THE  AUTHOR 


GEORGE  H.  DORAN  CO.,  NEW  YORK 
THORNTON  BUTTERWORTH  LIMITED 
15  BEDFORD  STREET,  LONDON,  W.C.2 


Published         .         .          .     Nov.  1921 
Second  Impression   .          .     Jan.  1922 


n  AT' 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I  A  ROOKERY  IN  SPRING 13 

II  THE  BUZZARDS  OF  THE  DOONE  COUNTRY          .         .        .         .         .27 

III  THE  LADY'S  HAWK .37 

IV  IN  THE  DEPTHS  OF  A  FIR  FOREST 45 

V  THE  GREATER  SPOTTED  WOODPECKER 51 

VI    THE  SWIFTEST  OF  BRITISH  HAWKS 61 

VII    Two  BROWN  OWLS '.        .  69 

VIII    DENIZENS  OF  A  BEECH  GROVE 77 

IX    ABOUT  THE  KESTREL 85 

X    PHOTOGRAPHING  THE  CROW 99 

XI    CONCERNING  A  SPARROW  HAWK  FAMILY 107 

XII    THE  HOME  LIFE  OF  THE  HERON 117 

XIII  BIRDS  AND  ARTILLERY  FIRE   .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .129 

XIV  SOME  STRANGE  INCIDENTS 187 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
PAGE 

THE  RABBIT'S  CONTRIBUTION  (see  p.  144)  ....         Frontispiece 

A  BATTLE  IN  THE  TREE-TOPS 16 

THE  ROOK 16 

STUDIES  IN  FLIGHT — .20 

(a)  A  rook  "  banking." 

(b)  "  The  throw-up  "  of  the  kestrel. 

THE  ROOK  WITH  HER  CLAMOURING  FAMILY         .         .         .         .         .         .24 

THE  YOUNG  BUZZARDS 28 

THE  BUZZARD  SEIZING  HIS  PREY '.       .  28 

THE  MALE  BUZZARD          ..........  32 

THE  MERLIN  WITH  TAIL  OUTSPREAD  ........  36 

THE  MERLIN  PURSUING  HER  QUARRY.         .         .         .         .         .         .         .40 

ON  THE  PLUCKING  STONE.          .........  40 

THE  LONG-EARED  OWL —  ..........  46 

(a)  Suspicious. 

(b)  Thoroughly  alarmed. 

A  LONG-EARED  OWL  AND  HER  SINGLE  YOUNGSTER —          ....  48 

YOUNG  LONG-EARS  ALARMED 48 

A  RED  SQUIRREL 50 

THE  GREAT  SPOTTED  WOODPECKER 52 

THE  GREATER  SPOTTED  WOODPECKER — 56 

(a)  On  the  wing. 

(b)  Climbing. 

STUDIES  OF  THE  YOUNG  HOBBIES      ........  64 

THE  LITTLE  OWL —  ...........  68 

(a)  Mature. 

(6)  Immature. 

ALL  CLEAR  ?............  72 

YOUNG  TAWNY  OWLS  IN  A  DISUSED  MAGPIE'S  NEST 74 

A  TAWNY  LEAVING  HER  NESTING  HOLE 74 

A  YOUNG  TAWNY 76 

7 


8  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
PAGE 

THE  GREEN  WOODPECKER 80 

THE  NOCTULE'S  TEETH 84 

THREE  FEMALE  NOCTULES  AND  THEIR  YOUNG 84 

THE  MALE  KESTREL  BROODING          .         .         .         .         ...         .  88 

NEWLY  HATCHED  YOUNG  KESTRELS 88 

A  MEADOW  PIPIT  FOR  THE  YOUNG 92 

A  YOUNG  CROW ...  100 

A  CROW'S  STRANGE  NEST  MATERIALS i  100 

SUSPICION  !............  104 

THE  SPARROW-HAWK —       ..........  108 

(a)  The  family  line-up  for  the  meal. 

(b)  At  a  later  stage  they  feed  themselves. 

THE  SPARROW-HAWK'S  WILD  EYE 112 

A  YOUNG  HERON  JUST  HATCHED .         .118 

A  HERON'S  NEST 118 

WITH  HER  YELLOW  EYE  FIXED  ON  THE  O.P 120 

HERON  FEEDING  HER  YOUNG     .........  124 

THE  SNIPING  POSITION —            .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .  132 

(a)  The  swallow's  nest. 

(b)  The  view  through  the  loophole. 

THE  NEST  OF  THE  ST.  ELOI  GOLDEN  ORIOLE      .         .         .         .'        .         .134 

ROOKS  UNDER  FIRE  ...........  134 

THE  "  SCRUFF  "  OF  THE  YOUNG  STOAT       .....                   .  140 

FKOM  THE  STOAT'S  LARDER        ....  140 


PREFACE 

IN  the  following  pages  I  have  endeavoured  to  set  forth  some  of  my  observa- 
tions  and   experiences   whilst    studying   those   birds — and  mammals — 
whose  habit  it  is  to  frequent  the  upper  branches  of  our  trees.     These 
dwellers  among  the  tree  tops  held — even  in  my  school  days — an  overwhelming 
fascination  for  me  ;  and  in  those  days  my  ability  to  climb  seemingly  inaccessible 
trees  often  stood  me  in  good  stead  where  the  collecting  of  eggs  was  concerned. 
On  many  occasions  I  was  asked  to  climb  to  the  nest  of  some  bird — perhaps  a 
member  of  the  Crow  or  Hawk  tribe — because  he  who  had  found  it  was  not 
equal  to  the  task  ;  and  I  often  noticed  that,  in  comparatively  good  collections 
the  eggs  of  such  birds  were  not  represented. 

And  since  it  seems  that  our  tree-nesting  community  generally  are  to-day 
somewhat  neglected  by  the  Natural  History  photographer,  I  hope  that  the 
results  of  my  efforts  as  contained  in  this  volume  may  prove  to  be  of  interest  to 
till  those  to  whom  our  wild  creatures  are  a  source  of  pleasure. 

I  have  set  down  nothing  concerning  the  birds  and  mammals  which  I  have 
studied  that  has  not  come  within  my  own  personal  experience,  and  have  not 
quoted  the  views  and  beliefs  of  others  without  specific  mention  of  the  fact. 

Let  me  avail  myself  of  this  opportunity  of  expressing  my  thanks  to  those 
who  have  so  generously  allowed  me  to  construct  "  observation  posts  "  on  their 
land  ;  for  without  such  hiding-places  the  photographs  with  which  the  book  is 
illustrated  could  never  have  been  secured.  I  should  also  like  to  thank  those 
others  who  have  so  cheerfully  encouraged  me  in  my  frequent  moments  of 
exasperation  and  despondency. 

PARK  POINT, 

BKSSKI.S  GREEN, 
SEVENOAKS. 

September  30,  1921. 


INDEX 


Ants,  81 


Bat  (noctule),  52,  82-84 

Beetles,  70,  85 

Beetles  (water),  127 

Bird  catchers,  107 

Blackbird,  71,  109,  133 

Bullfinch,  72 

Buzzard,  18,  27-35,  38,  62,  71,  91 


Castings,  16,  35,  127 

Chicken,  64,  67 

Crossbill,  13 

Crow  (carrion),  16,  25,  33,  38,  63,  87,  92, 

99-106,  113,  139 
Cuckoo,  109 


Dove,  109 

Dove  (stock),  50,  70,  77,  143-144 


Golden  Oriole,  129-132 
Goshawk,  28 
Grasshopper,  85 
Great  Tit,  57,  115 
Greenfinch,  47,  71 
Grouse,  41 

H 

Hack  (flying  at),  64 

Haggard  Hawk,  95 

Heron,  16,  35,  92,  113,  117-128,  142-144 

Hobby,  27,  37,  40,  46,  61-68,  92,  99 


Jackdaw,  48 

Jay,  44,  45,  49,  109,  132 


Kestrel,  16,  18,  27,  28,  29,  37,  40,  41. 

46,  62,  65,  68,  70,  85-97,  133 
Kite,  28,  31 


Eagle  (Golden),  27,  29 
Earthworms,  85 
Eels,  124,  126,  127 


Falcon  (Peregrine),  14,  18,  19,  27,  38,  64, 

68,  117 

Falconry,  19,  38,  42,  62,  117,  120,  133 
Fish,  119,  127 
Fish,  flat,  127 
Fish,  gold,  127 
Frog,  72-85 


Lady's  Hawk,  37-44 
Lark,  41,  42,  67,  89 
Lizard,  29 

M 

Magpie,  34,  129,  133 
Mallard,  42,  140,  142 
May-bug,  67 

Meadow  Pipit,  41,  85,  89 
Merlin,  37-44,  62,  72,  107 
Moles,  29,  71,  74,  127 
Moorhen,  130 
11 


12 


INDEX 


Mouse,  71,  74,  85 
Mouse  (Field),  71,  90 

N 

Nightingale,  129,  132 
Night-jar,  109 
Nuthatch,  57,  81-82 


Observation  post,  20 

Osprey,  28 

Owls,  39 

Owl,  Barn,  46,  70,  73,  140 

Eagle,  18 

Little,  27,  46,  52,  69,  75,  138 

Long-eared,  13,  46-19,  71 

Tawny,  46,  69-75,  77 


S 

Shrikes,  16 
Shrimps,  177 
Sparrow,  71,  92,  96,  109 
Sparrow-hawk,  29,  37,  41,  42,  43,  45,  4ft: 

48,  68,  92,  107-116,  132,   138 
Squirrel,  Grey,  50 
Red,  45,  49,  50 
Starling,  52,  71,  85,  92 
Stoat,  18,  141-142 
Stork,  13 

Swallow,  63,  129,  131 
Swift,  67 


Thrush,  39,  72,  91,  109,  132,  142 
Missel,  48,  70,  72,  139 


Partridge,  27,  41,  43,  69,  72,  86,  132 
Pheasant,  69,  86 
Pigeon,  43,  92 
Plover,  41,  43,  48 

R 

Rabbit,  28,  31,  32,  33,  71,  74,  144 
Rat,  71,  74 
Raven,  99,  103 
Redshank,  127 
Robin,  71,  137-138 
Rook,  13-25,  39,  87,  99,  138-135,  140 


Vole,  85 

Vole  (water),  72,  127 

W 

Wagtail,  Pied,  137-138 
Whitethroat,  111 

Woodpecker,  Greater    Spotted,  51-59,  78, 
81-82 

Green,  51,  58,  78-81,  109,  142 

Lesser  Spotted,  78,  81-82 
Woodpigeon,  45,  109,  130 


CHAPTER  I 

A    Rookery    in   Spring 

PROBABLY  the  most  familiar  figure  among  the  tree-top  dwellers  of  these 
Islands  is  that  of  our  friend  the  Rook  ;  which  bird  is  indeed  so  generally 
distributed  and  so  obvious  as  to  need  no  detailed  description  here. 

Most  of  us,  too,  will  have  noticed  the  clustered  nests,  particularly  during 
the  winter  months,  when,  silhouetted  against  the  sky,  they  stand  out  clearly 
among  the  then  leafless  branches. 

There  is  always  a  certain  romantic  attraction  about  a  Rookery,  even  as  seen 
from  '  terra  firma,'  and  a  distant  view  of  the  jolly  rooks  as,  after  an  absence 
of  some  eight  months,  they  return  to  repair  the  remains  of  last  year's  nests, 
generally  arouses,  at  least  amongst  the  youthful  population,  something  of  the 
enthusiasm  that  greets  the  coming  of  the  Stork  on  the  continent. 

In  most  districts  the  Rook  is  the  first  of  our  birds  to  commence  its  building 
operations.  Occasionally,  and  almost  before  we  have  realized  that  winter  has 
left  us,  a  report  may  come  that  the  eggs  of  a  Crossbill  or  Long-Eared  Owl  have 
been  discovered  ;  but,  generally  speaking,  the  bulky  structures  which  the 
Rooks  put  together  with  such  noisy  argument  are  the  first  indications  that  yet 
another  nesting  season  has  arrived. 

Once  the  building  has  commenced  in  earnest,  the  tree-tops  afford  a  spectacle 
which,  by  reason  of  the  comings  and  goings  and  the  curious  antics  involved, 
can  hardly  fail  to  attract  and  arrest  attention. 

A  Rook  will  put  himself  to  immense  trouble  in  carrying,  often  from  a  con- 
siderable distance,  a  stick — one  might  sometimes  even  call  it  a  small  branch — 
with  which  to  help  strengthen  the  foundation  of  a  nest.  It  is  by  no  means  plain 
sailing,  for  obstacles  will  assuredly  be  encountered  ;  an  adverse  wind  may  be 
blowing  ;  whilst  frequently  the  chosen  branch  will  be  awkwardly  shaped,  with 
side  growths  that  make  it  difficult  to  control.  Eventually,  however,  the  nest 
site  will  be  reached,  with,  in  all  probability,  an  adoring  if  impatient  mate  to 
help  him  in  his  troubles  ;  and  then,  with  what  quaint  beak  thrusts  and  tuggings 
will  the  new  acquisition  be  finally  fixed  in  position. 

No  sooner  is  this  satisfactorily  accomplished  than  the  Rook  is  off  once 
more  for  fresh  material.  As  a  rule,  although  the  lower  branches  of  his  own 

13 


14  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE  TREE  TOPS 

tree  would  often  seem  to  serve  his  purpose  quite  admirably,  the  Rook  prefers 
to  gather  his  sticks  and  twigs  from  some  particular  tree  in  the  neighbourhood, 
which  for  some  reason,  impossible  to  determine,  has  attracted  his  fancy.  He 
has,  moreover,  a  nice  choice  in  twigs,  and  having  reached  the  selected  tree  he 
will  hop  from  branch  to  branch,  peering  this  way  and  that,  until  he  spies  what 
he  considers  to  be  the  most  suitable  one. 

He  sidles  out  along  the  branch,  looks  at  it  closely,  makes  up  his  mind 
and  seizing  it  in  his  beak,  pulls  and  twists  until,  with  heaving  shoulders  and  half- 
closed  eyes,  he  contrives  to  wrench  it  free. 

Then  home  once  more,  and  back,  and  home  again. 

How  intently  does  each  pair  of  Rooks  work  to  perfect  their  future  home, 
and  with  what  a  pompous  air  do  they  turn  all  comers  from  what  they  consider 
to  be  their  own  particular  area  ! 

Sometimes  a  pair  of  Rooks  will  sit  for  hours  together  by  their  half-built 
nest,  apparently  dreaming  away  the  time,  and  seeming  in  no  hurry  to  finish 
the  work  ;  but,  rather,  completely  satisfied  with  the  feeling  that  the  site  has 
been  decided  upon,  and  that  actual  building  has  begun. 

A  colony  of  Rooks  on  a  balmy  March  morning,  softly  calling  to  one  another 
amongst  the  nests  in  the  tree-tops,  high  above  the  primroses  which  carpet  the 
sweet-smelling  earth  beneath,  may  perhaps  convey  to  the  casual  observer  the 
impression  of  a  peace-loving,  easy-going  community.  Yet  sociable  as  they 
are,  the  trees  witness  some  lively  struggles  for  mastery  amongst  them. 

Sometimes,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  one  Rook  will  suddenly  make 
an  attack  on  his  neighbour's  unoffending  wife  as  she  sits  complacently  upon 
her  nest,  and  such  a  scuffle  and  squawking  will  ensue  as  to  suggest  that  both 
rooks  are  being  put  to  death — to  say  nothing  of  the  smashing  of  any  eggs  that 
might  be  in  the  nest. 

The  husband  of  the  unhappy  victim  of  this  onslaught,  chancing  to  be 
leisurely  returning  from  some  foraging  expedition,  suddenly  quickens  his  pace  : 
his  keen  eyes  have  detected  that  there  is  trouble  at  home,  and  dashing  forward 
he  sweeps  into  the  tree  with  the  swerving  purposeful  action  of  a  Falcon  closing 
on  her  quarry.  In  an  instant  he  has  seized  the  intruder  with  beak  and  talons, 
and  whilst  the  pair  of  them,  firmly  locked  in  each  other's  claws,  come  fluttering 
and  squalling  down  through  the  branches,  the  female  who  was  thus  unceremoni- 
ously attacked,  calmly  resumes  her  duties  as  though  nothing  untoward  had 
happened. 

And  how  human  they  are  !  One  pair,  perhaps  resenting  the  proximity  of 
those  in  the  next  nest,  finds  some  excuse  for  the  exchange  of  a  few  pleasantries  ; 
and  give  vent  to  their  feelings  by  advancing  towards  their  neighbours  with 
uplifted  wings,  raised  hackles,  and  the  most  awe-inspiring  caws  that  they  can 
produce  ;  each  of  them  apparently  urging  on  his  mate  to  go  in  and  set  the 
brave  example. 


A  ROOKERY  IN  SPRING  15 

Meanwhile  the  neighbours  put  up  a  good  show  by  standing  firmly  with 
half-spread  wings  and  open  beaks :  trying,  it  would  seem,  to  bluff  the  aggressors 
into  believing  that  they  will  hold  on  to  the  last. 

One  of  the  attackers  jabs  wildly  with  his  beak  in  the  direction  of  the  enemy 
— upon  which  all  caw  frantically  ;  the  other  takes  half  a  pace  forward  to  the 
loud  applause  of  his  mate  ;  while  the  besieged,  by  firmly  holding  their  ground, 
seem  to  demoralize  the  besiegers  to  such  an  extent  that  no  decisive  result  is 
attained.  And  so,  with  a  good  deal  of  wing-flapping  and  smoothing  of  ruffled 
feathers,  the  battle  comes  to  an  inglorious  end.  No  blood  has  been  spilt,  but 
every  one  seems  satisfied. 

While  all  this  is  going  on,  a  Rook  occupying  a  flat  below  goes  cheerfully 
about  her  business,  neither  she,  nor  any  of  the  others  in  the  vicinity  taking 
the  least  interest  in  the  uproar. 

When,  however,  later  in  the  season,  the  rival  claims  have  been  adjusted, 
and  the  females  are  sitting  upon  their  greenish  blotched  eggs,  an  atmosphere 
of  peace  and  serene  content  pervades  the  colony.  The  caws  that  emanate 
from  the  branches  about  the  nests  seem  to  be  the  sleepy  conversation  of  a 
satisfied  people,  and  every  now  and  again  the  faithful  husbands  may  be  seen 
flying  into  the  trees,  each  settling  en  his  nest,  or  some  branch  adjacent  to  it, 
and  affectionately  poking  food  down  the  throat  of  the  cawing  female  ;  which 
operation  accounts  for  the  curious  gulping  sound  which  sometimes  intercepts 
a  prolonged  '  caw-w-w.' 

The  delight  of  the  female  as  she  receives  the  little  gift  is  very  obvious, 
for  besides  such  verbal  expression  of  her  pleasure,  she  flutters  her  half -opened 
wings  in  a  quivering  way,  just  as  a  young  bird  does  when  taking  food  from  the 
parent. 

Sometimes  she  is  so  overcome  with  joy  at  the  return  of  her  mate — or  the 
possibility  of  more  food — that  unable  to  wait  patiently  upon  the  nest,  she 
flutters  from  branch  to  branch  towards  him,  and  with  wide-open  beak  awaits 
the  expected  meal. 

Such  food  is  almost  invariably  collected  from  the  pasture  and  arable 
land  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Rookery,  and  is  composed  almost  entirely  of  larvae 
and  insects.  So  anxious  are  the  Rooks  to  secure  these  delicacies  that  they 
will  settle  upon  and  examine  the  newly  turned  earth  in  the  wake  of  a  plough  ; 
and  in  fact,  in  hard  weather,  when  they  are  pressed  for  food,  they  will  often 
settle  within  a  few  fe$t  of  the  man  guiding  the  plough,  and  instances  are  on 
record  of  the  Rooks  having  been  ploughed  under  in  their  eagerness  to  secure 
some  tempting  morsel. 

Towards  the  middle  of  March,  or  early  in  April,  the  majority  of  the  Rooks 
have  completed  their  nests.  In  due  course  from  one  to  six  eggs  are  laid,  the 
most  usual  clutch  being  four  or  five — though  it  is  by  no  means  uncommon 
to  find  but  a  single  nestling  hatched. 


16  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE  TREE   TOPS 

A  rather  quaint  theory  which  has  been  put  forward  by  an  ardent  present- 
day  oologist— who  also  happens  to  be  a  somewhat  poor  climber — is  that  the 
most  vigorous  Rooks  select  and  monopolize  the  highest  points  of  the  trees  for 
the  nesting  sites — so  that  the  weakly  down-trodden  Rooks  have  to  be  satisfied 
with  the  lower  and  more  accessible  branches.  Consequently  the  largest 
clutches  are  at  the  extreme  tops  of  the  trees  !  The  oologist  therefore  who 
is  a  poor  climber — or  who  suffers  from  vertigo — must  needs  content  himself 
with  a  poor  show  of  Rooks'  eggs  !  The  writer's  experiences  do  not  confirm  this 
theory. 

The  ground  beneath  a  Rookery  is  littered  with  the  sticks  which  have  been 
dropped  by  the  birds  during  the  scuffles  involved  in  the  business  of  nest-build- 
ing, as  well  as  with  the  pellets  which  the  birds  have  cast.  The  latter  generally 
consist  of  grasses,  beetles'  cases,  fur,  and  so  forth,  and  afford  good  evidence 
of  the  Rook's  taste. 

It  is  perhaps  not  generally  known  that  Rooks,  Crows,  Herons,  and  Shrikes 
share  with  the  Hawks  and  Owls  the  ability  to  thus  get  rid  of  indigestible  matter. 
And  in  order  to  enlighten  those  who  are  not  acquainted  with  this  habit,  it 
might  be  well  to  explain  here  exactly  what  a  casting  is,  and  how  a  casting  is 
produced — for  castings  will  be  referred  to  in  later  pages,  and  it  will  be  well  to 
understand  the  exact  meaning  of  the  term. 

A  casting  or  pellet,  then,  is  composed  entirely  of  the  indigestible  portions 
of  recent  meals,  and  is  thrown  up  and  ejected  through  the  beak,  generally  on 
the  morning  following  the  day  on  which  the  food  was  consumed. 

If,  for  instance,  a  Kestrel  should  devour,  let  us  say,  some  mice,  on  a  par- 
ticular day,  it  will,  early  the  next  morning,  suddenly  commence  to  work  its 
head  and  neck  about  in  an  uneasy  strained  sort  of  manner  ;  and  with  lowered 
head  and  open  beak  will  strive  to  throw  up  the  casting.  In  a  few  seconds 
its  efforts  are  successful,  and  the  pellet  or  casting  which,  in  the  case  of  a 
Kestrel,  is  usually  about  the  size  and  shape  of  an  acorn,  drops  to  earth.  Upon 
examination  the  casting  will  be  found  to  consist  of  the  fur  and  whiskers  of 
the  unhappy  mice  of  yesterday.  By  examining  such  castings,  one  may  form 
a  very  fair  idea  of  what  the  bird  concerned  has  been  feeding  on. 

Rooks  cling  to  their  breeding-sites  with  remarkable  tenacity.  Year  after 
year  they  return  to  the  same  clump  of  trees  ;  in  fact,  their  constancy  in  this 
respect  is  so  marked  that  their  presence  is  often  associated  with  the  fortunes 
of  the  family  whose  permanence  has,  so  to  speak,  coincided  with  their  own. 
It  is  an  ill  day  for  the  Hall,  say  the  village  wiseacres,  when  at  the  nesting 
season  the  Rooks  fail  to  put  in  an  appearance,  and  until  they  establish  them- 
selves bad  luck  will  overtake  the  place,  and  will  continue. 

Sometimes,  however,  tradition  is  openly  defied,  and  the  Rooks  given 
notice  to  quit. 

The  following  instance  may  serve  to  show  how  difficult  it  may  be  to 


A   BATTLE 

IN   THE 
TREE-TOPS 


THE   ROOK 

[Showing  the  absence  of  feathers 
at  the  base  of  the  beak.] 


A  ROOKERY  IN  SPRING  17 

persuade  the  members  of  a  Rookery  to  nest  anywhere  but  in  their  time-honoured 
clump  of  trees. 

A  farmer  on  whose  land  was  a  long-established  Rookery,  decided  that, 
owing  to  the  raids  which  the  birds  were  making  upon  his  newly-sown  corn,  he 
would  have  no  more  of  them,  and  detailed  a  man, armed  with  an  ancient  though 
formidable  shot-gun,  to  stand  under  the  trees  ;  and  instructed  him  to  shoot 
any  Rooks  that  might  come  within  range. 

Day  after  day  the  spasmodic  bangs  of  the  gun  might  be  heard  from  the 
distance ;  day  by  day  some  unfortunate  Rook,  braver  than  the  rest,  would  fall 
a  victim  to  the  shooter's  patience  ;  and  day  by  day  the  mangled  bodies  of  the 
dead  Rooks,  littered  about  under  the  trees,  increased  in  numbers.  Weeks 
passed  and  still  the  Rooks,  hanging  about  their  trees,  refused  to  commence 
nest -building  elsewhere.  Occasionally  one  or  two  would  alight  on  the  familiar 
branches,  only  to  pay  the  full  penalty  for  their  temerity,  and  yet  they  refused 
to  leave. 

At  last,  however,  the  watch  below  was  relaxed,  and  the  Rooks,  feeling 
that  the  period  of  waiting  was  over,  commenced  the  business  of  nest-building 
with  feverish  energy. 

Where  one  evening  there  had  been  not  a  single  new  nest,  there  were,  the 
following  morning,  the  foundations  of  between  fifty  and  sixty  being  run  up  at 
lightning  speed.  Little  time  there  was  for  squabbling  or  intervals  of  peaceful 
rest,  so  busy  were  the  Rooks  on  the  serious  business  of  home-construction. 

A  few  days  later  the  man  with  the  gun  resumed  action.  Soon  the  ground 
was  thickly  strewn  with  the  remains  of  the  birds.  Caught  up  in  the  branches 
beside  some  of  the  nests  the  bodies  of  Rooks  hung  listless.  And  still  the 
intermittent  banging  of  the  gun  could  be  heard. 

At  length  such  terror  was  instilled  into  the  hearts  of  the  surviving  Rooks 
that  they  were  driven  to  betake  themselves  elsewhere,  and  the  man  with  the 
gun  at  last  relinquished  his  position  under  the  silent  remains  of  last  year's 
nests. 

On  May  10th  of  that  year  it  was  found  that  a  solitary  pair  of  Rooks  had 
stuck  indomitably  to  the  ancestral  haunt,  and  had  laid  three  eggs  in  a  nest 
surrounded  by  the  deserted  homes  of  dead  or  fugitive  relations. 

But  if  undisturbed,  the  Rooks,  by  the  middle  of  May,  would  be  engaged  in 
feeding  their  young — many  of  which  would  be  by  this  time  almost  fully  grown — 
and  might  be  seen  making  constant  journeys  between  the  Rookery  and  the 
feeding-ground. 

When  the  young  Rooks  are  able  to  leave  the  nests  and  take  short  flights 
to  the  surrounding  trees,  it  is  a  common  practice  for  the  owner  of  the  place 
to  organize  a  '  Rook-shoot,'  when  either  guns  or  rifles  may  be  utilized  in 
the  process  of  thinning  out  the  young  Rooks.  To  what  degree  this  may  be 
termed  '  sport '  is  an  open  question  ;  certain  it  is,  however,  that  it  does  not 

c 


18  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE  TREE  TOPS 

prevent  the  Rooks  from  returning  to  the  same  nesting-site  in  the  following 
year,  and  the  possibility  of  Rooks  becoming  a  serious  nuisance  to  the  agricul- 
turist must  not  be  lost  sight  of. 

Few  birds  are  more  wary.  A  flock  of  them  feeding  in  a  field  will  appear 
to  be  so  busily  engaged  as  not  to  mark  your  passing  ;  but,  stand  for  a  moment 
or  raise  your  stick  to  your  shoulder  as  you  would  a  gun,  and  in  a  moment  the 
whole  flock  is  on  the  wing  with  loud  and  angry  remonstrance. 

This  wariness — perhaps  not  unmixed  with  curiosity — accounts  for  the  fact 
that  if  a  stoat  be  gambolling  or  hunting  on  the  Rooks'  feeding-ground,  the 
birds  will  collect  in  a  rough  circle  around  it,  and  spend  a  considerable  time  in 
fluttering  into  the  air,  advancing  a  few  yards  towards  the  object  of  their  appre- 
hension— or  curiosity — and  retiring  with  spasmodic  leapings  and  flutterings 
if  it  should  chance  to  advance  towards  them. 

This  characteristic  is  sometimes  taken  advantage  of  by  those  who,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  wish  to  rid  the  district  of  some  of  its  Rooks.  Instead 
of  a  stoat,  a  tame  ferret  is  used  as  a  decoy,  and  the  little  animal,  tethered  to  a 
spot  frequented  by  Rooks,  seldom  fails  to  attract  the  first  flock  that  chances 
to  be  passing.  The  Rooks  turn  in  their  flight,  and  settling  in  the  same  manner 
as  when  a  stoat  is  espied,  form  an  easy  mark  for  the  gunner  who  is  meanwhile 
lying  in  wait. 

A  large  bird  of  prey  might — and  has  been — utilized  to  the  same  purpose — 
but  in  this  case  there  is  no  question  as  to  why  the  Rooks  are  attracted.  They 
cordially  detest — for  instance — an  Eagle-Owl  or  a  Buzzard,  and  vent  their 
feelings  by  '  mobbing  '  the  intruder  ;  that  is  by  making  a  series  of  sharp  swoops 
at  his  head  !  It  is  indeed  an  extraordinary  sight  to  see  a  flock  of  Rooks  stoop- 
ing, one  after  another,  at  their  ofttimes  quite  imaginary  enemy. 

Should  a  modest  Kestrel  approach  the  Rookery  too  closely  he  will  be 
quickly  driven  off  by  the  Rooks  ;  who,  issuing  forth  in  a  crowd,  will  so  harry 
the  quite  innocent  little  hawk  as  to  prompt  him  to  put  on  his  best  pace  and 
quit  the  district  without  delay. 

Even  the  lordly  Peregrine  is  sometimes  thus  ignominiously  pursued  by 
the  vulgar  Rook — and  the  question  at  once  arises  as  to  how  the  Rooks  can 
possibly  tell  that,  at  the  moment,  the  noble  Falcon  is  not  '  out  for  blood  ' ; 
for  in  the  ordinary  course  of  things,  to  merely  catch  sight  of  a  Peregrine  creates 
such  feelings  of  dread  within  the  Rook's  breast  as  to  send  him  flying  headlong 
to  the  nearest  cover. 

Apropos  of  this  point  the  following  account  may  be  of  interest  to  the  readers 
of  these  lines. 

One  stormy  April  evening,  whilst  watching  with  a  pair  of  glasses  the 
goings  on  in  a  Rookery  in  the  West  of  England,  the  writer  was  asked  by  a 
mounted  passer-by  if  a  Peregrine  had  been  seen.  A  hawking  party  was  out, 
and  following  a  long,  high  flight,  one  of  the  Falcons  in  pursuit  of  a  strong  Rook 


A  ROOKERY  IN  SPRING  19 

had  literally  '  disappeared  into  the  blue,'  and  had  last  been  seen  some  half- 
mile  north  of  the  Rookery. 

Knowing  something  of  the  art  of  Falconry,  the  writer  promised  to  try 
and  take  her  up  if  she  should  put  in  an  appearance — or  at  least  report  her 
whereabouts  if  he  should  see  her  take  perch  to  roost  for  the  night. 

About  an  hour  later  he  was  attracted  by  the  extraordinary  behaviour  of 
the  Rooks,  who  suddenly  rose  up  in  a  great  cawing  mass  above  the  trees,  only 
to  retire,  equally  suddenly,  amongst  the  branches  again.  And  then  the  cause 
of  their  unrest,  in  the  shape  of  the  lost  Falcon,  hove  in  sight.  As  she  passed 
overhead  two  things  were  obvious,  one,  that  she  was  a  trained  hawk,  for  her 
bells  could  be  heard  quite  clearly,  the  other,  that  she  had  recently  killed  and 
fed  up  ;  her  protruding  crop  was  sufficient  evidence  of  that. 

How  serenely  she  sailed  along  ! 

No  wonder,  soliloquized  the  writer,  that  the  Rooks  withdrew  so  hurriedly 
into  the  cover  of  the  tree-tops  !  For  he  knew  how  exceedingly  quick  they 
are  to  avail  themselves  of  any  cover,  even  when  they  see  the  Falcon  sitting 
on  the  Falconer's  fist. 

Right  overhead  she  passed,  her  bells  tinkling,  her  jesses  trailing  behind 
— what  a  glorious  bird  ! 

And  then  a  strange  and  a  totally  unexpected  thing  happened.  Hardly 
had  she  passed  over  the  Rookery  than  a  dozen  or  so  Rooks — feeling  perhaps 
more  confident  when  acting  collectively,  suddenly  dashed  out  from  the  trees, 
and  treating  this  most  noble  of  birds  as  though  she  were  a  common  Owl  or 
Buzzard,  commenced  to  mob  her  in  the  cheekiest  manner. 

So  implicit  was  the  writer's  faith  in  the  Falcon  that  he  fully  expected  her 
to  turn  and  scatter  the  rude  mob.  His  feelings  of  disappointment  can  be 
better  imagined  than  described,  when  it  is  told  that  not  only  did  the  Falcon 
shift  and  twist  to  avoid  the  stoops  of  the  Rooks,  but  that  she  even  began  to 
scream  vociferously  ! 

Yet  watchful,  clever — and  at  times  even  brave — as  the  Rook  undoubtedly 
is,  he  is  nevertheless  on  occasions  extremely  stupid — or  unjustifiably  con- 
fiding in  his  own  kind.  Watch  him,  for  instance,  hard  at  work  labouring  back- 
wards and  forwards  between  the  nest  and  the  tree  from  which  he  gathers  his 
sticks.  So  intent  is  he  on  his  work  that  he  does  not  notice  that  each  time  his 
back  is  turned  a  covetous  Rook  from  a  neighbouring  nest  will  stealthily  creep 
forward  and  commence  to  prod  and  pull  at  his  hardly-won  pile.  Nor  indeed 
is  it  essential  that  his  back  should  be  turned,  for  sometimes  the  robbery  takes 
place  beneath  his  very  nose — or  perhaps  one  should  say  '  beak ' — without  the 
least  notice  being  taken. 

He  merely  adjusts  the  newest  find  and  straightway  starts  off  in  quest  of 
another. 

The  question  as  to  how  accurate  observations  of  the  ways  of  such  birds 


20  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

as  Rooks  can  be  carried  out,  may  have  already  arisen  in  the  mind  of  the 
reader. 

Of  course  Rooks  are  exceedingly  common  birds,  and  birds  moreover 
that  love  to  nest  in  the  vicinity  of  human  dwellings — and  usually  do  so  before 
the  leaves  are  out  to  hide  them  and  their  bulky  homes.  And  yet  it  is  not  an 
easy  matter,  even  from  a  convenient  top-floor  window  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  a  Rookery,  to  get  a  really  clear,  unobstructed  view  of  what  is  taking  place 
in  the  various  nests.  There  are  so  many  twigs  and  branches  to  obstruct  any- 
thing but  an  overhead  view ;  and  one  can  hardly  contemplate  hiring  an 
observation  balloon  ! 

After  many  years  of  experience,  the  writer  has  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  there  is  one  way,  and  one  way  only,  of  studying  intimately  the  habits  of 
the  tree-top  denizens  ;  and  that  is  by  building  high  up  among  the  branches, 
and  at  a  point  overlooking  the  selected  nest,  an  observation  post,  into  which 
when  the  time  for  action  arrives,  the  observer,  possibly  with  his  camera,  may 
retire,  and  whence  he  can  observe  without  himself  being  seen. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  such  an  observation  post,  which  may  be  con- 
structed of  sacks,  old  tablecloths,  '  shoddy  bags,'  and  so  on — is  not  built  in  a 
day — nor  in  a  week. 

Rooks,  as  we  have  already  noted,  are  very  wary  birds,  and  should  such  a 
huge  structure  appear  too  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  their  homes,  they  would, 
without  doubt,  leave  their  eggs  and  young,  once  and  for  all — with  direful 
results. 

So  the  building  of  the  observation  post,  if  catastrophes  are  to  be  avoided, 
must  be  very  gradual,  and  will  cover  a  considerable  period. 

When  the  foundation  stone  of  the  observation  post — in  the  shape  of  a 
piece  of  sacking,  some  two  feet  square — is  first  placed  in  position,  the  Rooks 
take  some  little  time  in  overcoming  their  innately  suspicious  natures,  and 
in  assuring  themselves  that  the  piece  of  sacking,  flapping  idly  in  the  wind,  is 
not  a  fresh  kind  of  trap.  But  at  length,  encouraged  no  doubt  by  the  com- 
placency of  their  more  distant  neighbours,  they  ultimately  take  their  courage — 
as  it  were — in  both  feet,  and  hop  gingerly  on  to  the  nest :  as  a  rule,  only  to  shoot 
upwards  and  backwards,  as  though  they  have  accidentally  dipped  their  toes 
into  boiling  water. 

At  length,  however,  they  settle  down,  and  the  following  morning  generally 
finds  them  utterly  careless  of  the  flapping  canvas. 

A  day  later  another  piece  of  sacking  is  added  to  the  first  ;  and  so 
on,  until  at  the  end  of  three  weeks  we  have  quite  a  respectable  semblance  of 
a  hiding-place,  for  by  this  time  the  sides  are  tied  together ;  there  is  sufficient 
loose  sacking  hanging  down  to  hide  the  feet;  and  the  whole  affair  is  most 
artistically  camouflaged  with  dead  branches,  sprays  of  elder,  and  handfuls  of 
grass  and  rushes  from  the  dyke  hard  by. 


STUDIES 
FLIGHT 


A  ROOK   "BANKING" 

AND 

"THE   THROW-UP" 
OF   THE    KESTREL 


A   ROOKERY   IN   SPRING  21 

All  that  is  now  needed  is  one  more  shoddy  bag  to  serve  as  a  roof,  a  little 
platform  affair  on  which  the  camera  may  be  fixed,  and  some  black  muslin. 

At  this  stage  in  the  proceedings  there  is  one  danger  to  be  guarded  against, 
and  that  is  the  possibility  of  the  Rooks  returning  while  work  in  the  observation 
post  is  in  progress,  for  in  all  probability  any  chances  of  success  would  be 
doomed  if  the  Rooks  should  return  to  find  a  human  being  dallying  so  close 
to  their  homes. 

So  it  is  necessary  to  devise  some  means  of  keeping  them  away  during 
the  time  that  the  observation  post  is  being  completed. 

All  of  which  sounds  simple  enough  ;  but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  business 
of  collecting  sacks  and  shoddy  bags,  of  dragging  camouflage  branches,  and  so 
on,  to  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  of  hauling  them  all  to  the  proper  elevation — to 
say  nothing  of  fixing  them  in  the  desired  position,  is  really  at  times  somewhat 
trying.  For  when  they,  or  some  of  them,  are  at  length  lodged  in  the  fork  of 
some  swaying  branch,  it  is  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  one  hangs  on  with 
one  hand,  and  attempts  to  tie  up  sacking,  or  hammer  in  a  nail  with  the 
other. 

By  building  the  observation  post  thus  gradually,  one  not  only  lessens 
the  chance  of  scaring  the  Rooks,  but  spreads  the  hateful  task  over  a  longer 
period ;  nevertheless  the  waves  of  hopeless  exasperation  which  are  apt  to 
overcome  one  at  such  times  are  never  wholly  avoided. 

But  at  length  the  observation  post  is  completed.  The  roof  does  not 
need  camouflage  of  any  kind,  for  almost  resting  upon  it  are  no  less  than  four 
Rooks'  nests,  three  of  which  by  this  time  contain  fair-sized  young  ones. 
Without  doubt  one  could  easily  touch  an  old  Rook  by  making  a  hole  through 
the  bottom  of  her  nest.  But  it  would  be  a  senseless  thing  to  do. 

The  day  having  arrived  then,  when  close-range  observation  and  photo- 
graphy of  the  Rook  is  to  be  attempted,  we — the  writer  and  a  companion — set 
out  for  the  Rookery. 

It  is  essential  in  such  a  case  to  have  a  companion  to  accompany  one 
to  the  Rookery,  to  stand  by  until  all  is  in  readiness,  and  to  leave  as 
noisily  and  ostentatiously  as  possible  ;  for  otherwise  the  Rooks  would  in  all 
probability  reason  out  the  fact,  that  if  some  one  ascended  the  tree,  disappeared, 
and  has  not  since  descended,  then  that  some  one  must  be  still  in  the  tree. 
This  undesirable  state  of  affairs  is  perhaps  obviated  by  one's  companion  endeav- 
ouring to  keep  the  attention  of  the  Rooks  concentrated  on  himself.  In  his 
efforts  to  attain  this  end,  he  throws  his  hat  in  the  air,  shouts,  and  performs 
other  queer  antics. 

During  the  past  summer  a  friend  of  mine  who  was  carrying  out  this  part 
of  the  work  with  extraordinary  energy,  was  much  embarrassed  to  suddenly 
find  that  he  had  a  large  and  deeply  interested  audience  watching  him  !  Doubt- 
less they  thought  him  mentally  deficient. 


22  WILD   LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

Even  from  a  distance  the  observation  post  looms  large  and  clumsy,  and 
we  wonder  whether  the  local  populace  will  imagine  it  is  an  enormous  rook's 
nest  or  part  of  a  derelict  Zeppelin.  In  any  case  the  rooks  seem  to  ignore  it, 
and  we  are  delighted  to  notice  as  we  draw  closer  that '  our  '  nests  are  attended 
by  the  old  birds. 

Our  arrival,  however,  seems  to  be  much  resented ;  the  whole  colony  of 
Rooks  rising  in  the  air  and  circling  above  us  with  angry  caws  of  remonstrance  ; 
their  shadows  dancing  the  while  upon  the  meadow  below. 

No  time  is  to  be  lost,  for  it  is  unwise  to  keep  the  birds  from  their  nests 
for  any  length  of  time ;  and  to  the  distant  accompaniment  of  wild  shouts 
from  my  companion,  who  is  busy  throwing  his  hat  up  and  chasing  it,  the 
journey  to  the  observation  post  is  commenced. 

The  trees  are  elm,  and  consequently  too  much  confidence  must  not  be 
placed  in  their  thinner  limbs.  Still,  by  keeping  close  to  the  trunk  there  is  not 
much  fear  of  an  accident,  and  with  a  rope  trailing  behind,  by  which  the 
camera  may  be  hauled  up,  the  observation  post  is  ultimately  reached. 

In  order  to  enter  it,  one  has  to  reach  up  into  its  interior  with  one  hand, 
grasp  a  stoutish  branch  which  serves  as  a  seat,  and  haul  oneself  high  enough 
to  get  a  footing  on  a  convenient  branch.  The  camera  is  then  hauled  up  and 
fixed  in  position,  and  the  word  given  to  the  hat  thrower  to  go  away,  and  return 
in  four  hours'  time.  These  instructions  have  to  be  repeated  some  five  or  six 
times,  as  owing  to  a  stiffish  breeze  which  is  blowing,  it  is  impossible  for  him  to 
hear  a  word  of  what  is  being  said  ;  and  it  is  only  when  he  at  last  stands  immedi- 
ately beneath  the  observation  post  and  listens  with  his  head  on  one  side  that 
he  understands  what  is  required. 

And  now  that  all  is  in  readiness  we  can  lean  back  and  take  things  easily 
— for  a  while.  There  is  a  wonderful  light  to-day,  but  rather  too  much  wind. 
Through  a  tiny  peep-hole  in  the  sacking  we  can  see  the  form  of  our  companion, 
dwarfed  by  distance,  slowly  making  its  way  over  the  cornfield  towards  the 
farm  on  the  edge  of  the  marsh. 

But  in  the  meantime,  how  are  the  Rook  families  faring  ?  Immediately 
opposite  to  us  as  we  sit  on  the  branch,  and  at  the  same  level  as  the  head,  is 
an  opening  in  the  canvas  some  six  inches  broad  by  one  inch  high,  over  which 
black  muslin  has  been  stitched.  It  is  quite  a  convenient  idea  for  watching 
the  Rooks  without  any  possibility  of  their  seeing  through  into  such  a  dark 
interior. 

There  are  two  nests  under  observation,  about  four  feet  from  one  another. 
The  nest  on  the  right  contains  eggs  which  must  be  on  the  point  of  hatching, 
whilst  that  on  the  left  holds  a  family — two  in  number — of  fully  fledged  young 
Rooks.  These  young  Rooks  are  at  the  moment  lying  on  the  edge  of  the  nest, 
apparently  overcome  by  the  heat ;  at  least  they  are  in  the  direct  rays  of  a 
summer  sun,  and  with  half-open  beaks  are  panting  heavily. 


A   ROOKERY   IN   SPRING  23 

A  terrific  commotion,  a  flapping  of  wings,  a  cacophony  of  caws  overhead, 
tells  one  that  the  Rooks  are  returning.  What  an  uproar  !  They  are  certainly 
returning  much  more  readily  than  we  had  dared  to  expect.  In  fact  our  com- 
panion has  not  yet  disappeared  under  the  Marsh  Gate  cherry-trees.  And 
in  less  than  five  minutes,  we  see  the  Rook  from  the  right-hand  nest  swing  up 
into  a  branch  not  more  than  fifteen  feet  away,  and  stand  there  with  lowered  head 
and  shining  eye,  satisfying  herself  that  all  is  well  before  going  on  to  her  eggs. 
Then  in  a  most  amusing  manner  she  sidles  along  the  branch,  yet  nearer  to  us, 
towards  her  nest. 

The  nest  is  but  twelve  feet  from  the  observation  post  so  that  as  we  watch 
her  we  can  see  every  gleaming  feather.  What  a  mistaken  idea  it  is  to  suppose 
that  the  Rook  is  '  black ' ;  for  as  they  catch  the  light  her  feathers  reflect  the 
most  glorious  greens  and  purples.  And  in  what  splendid  condition  her 
plumage  is  !  As  she  steps  on  to  her  nest,  and  prepares  by  '  puffing  out '  her 
breast  feathers,  to  cover  the  eggs,  wre  cannot  help  comparing  her  with  the 
battered  travesties  of  her  kind,  that  we  sometimes  see  in  cages. 

As  she  lowers  herself  on  to  the  eggs,  we  notice  that  her  breast  feathers 
are  '  puffed  out  '  to  such  an  extent  that  they  are  almost  horizontal. 

The  ability  to  raise  the  feathers  in  this  way  so  exposes  the  bare  patch 
of  skin  on  a  sitting  bird's  breast — which  is  known  as  the  '  sitting  patch ' — as 
to  allow  the  eggs  to  come  in  direct  contact  with  her  naked  skin  ;  the  feathers, 
of  course,  closing  around  the  eggs  when  the  bird  is  in  position. 

As  our  Rook  turns  her  head  this  way  and  that,  the  glossy  feathers  of  her 
neck  would  seem  almost  to  have  been  dipped  in  oil,  so  brightly  do  they  shine 
in  the  sunlight.  Presently,  with  her  beak  over  her  back,  she  commences  to 
preen  her  flight  feathers,  and  the  little  '  snap  '  of  her  beak  as  it  reaches  the 
end  of  the  feather  is  quite  audible  in  the  observation  post. 

Rooks,  in  spite  of  their  evil  reputation,  are  exceedingly  careful  of  their 
plumage  and  of  the  cleanliness  of  the  nest.  They  spend  hours  preening  and 
shaking  their  feathers,  and  are  most  watchful,  when  the  young  are  hatched, 
that  no  foul  matter  is  allowed  to  remain  in  the  nest. 

Anything  of  the  kind  is  immediately  picked  up  in  the  extreme  tip  of  the 
beak,  carried  on  to  the  surrounding  branches  and  dropped  overboard. 

An  excited  '  car-r-ing  '  from  the  nest  on  the  left  announces  the  fact  that 
the  two  young  ones  are  about  to  be  fed.  As  we  turn  to  watch  them,  we  see  one 
of  the  Rooks  advancing  along  a  branch  towards  them  with  the  food  pouch 
stuffed  with  food.  Reaching  up  on  their  shaky  limbs,  the  young  Rooks  vie 
with  one  another  for  the  first  share,  although  little  seems  gained  by  hurry, 
for,  before  distributing  the  food,  the  Rook,  with  the  help  of  her  tongue,  transfers 
some  of  the  food  to  the  tip  of  the  beak,  when  it  is  placed  down  the  throat  of 
the  young  one. 

Before  the  second  young  one  receives  a  share  he,  too,  has  to  wait  until  the 


24  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

process  of  transferring  food  from  pouch  to  beak  has  once  more  been  accom- 
plished. 

Having  delivered  her  gifts,  the  Rook  seems  inclined  to  brood  her  young, 
and  tries  unsuccessfully  to  do  so.  They  are  really  too  large,  however,  and  so 
she  has  to  content  herself  by  lying  on  the  nest  beside  them — quite  content,  it 
would  seem,  to  have  them  close  by. 

Some  twenty  minutes  later  the  male  Rook — if  one  can  determine  the 
sex  of  a  Rook  by  the  brilliance  of  the  plumage — flutters  into  the  branches 
and  on  to  the  side  of  the  nest.  Judging  by  the  actions  of  the  female  one  would 
think  that  she  was  suffering  from  the  final  pangs  of  starvation. 

With  quivering  wings  and  uplifted  open  beak  she  cowers  before  her  mate, 
begging  him,  it  would  seem,  to  give  her  food. 

Quite  unconcernedly  the  male  transfers  a  little  food  into  his  beak,  and 
presses  it  affectionately  down  her  throat ;  then,  ignoring  her  further  entreaties, 
he  turns  his  attention  to  the  young  ones,  who  although  they  were  fed  but 
twenty  minutes  before,  seem  as  hungry  as  ever.  Having  fulfilled  his  mission 
he  once  more  turns  seawards  and  sails  out  over  the  marshes. 

Hardly  has  he  gone  than  the  sitting  Rook  on  the  right  vociferously  wel- 
comes her  husband,  and  standing  on  her  nest  with  wings  aflutter,  she  too 
receives  a  donation  of  food. 

As  the  day  wears  on,  the  two  young  Rooks  on  the  left  become  increas- 
ingly restless.  First  one  and  then  the  other  indulges  in  a  bout  of  wing-flapping, 
at  the  same  time  jumping  into  the  air  as  though  to  test  the  weight-carrying 
capacity  of  his  wings.  At  any  moment  they  may  risk  a  trial  flight  to  one  of 
the  adjacent  branches;  an  idea  in  which  their  parents  seem  to  be  encouraging 
them,  for  when  they  return  with  food,  they  hesitate  for  some  time  before 
coming  to  the  nest,  as  though  luring  the  young  ones  into  the  branches. 

And  at  last  one  of  the  young  Rooks  flutters  into  a  branch  a  few  feet  from 
the  nest ;  where,  at  his  next  visit,  the  parent  liberally  feeds  him. 

Then  another  step  is  essayed,  and  by  short  stages  he  soon  reaches  the  tip- 
top twig  of  the  home  tree. 

It  is  from  just  such  a  point  of  vantage  as  this  that  the  first  trial  flights  are 
made.  The  young  Rooks  love  to  climb  upwards,  and  when  they  reach  the 
highest  point,  they  usually  attempt  a  flight  to — for  instance — the  top  of  the 
adjoining  tree. 

Should  a  young  rook  on  such  a  trip  be  carried  out  of  its  course  by  a  too 
boisterous  wind,  one  or  other  of  its  parents  will  generally  be  close  at  hand 
to  fly  to  its  side,  and  with  caws  of  encouragement  to  cheer  it  in  its 
trouble. 

So  now  there  is  only  one  young  Rook  remaining  in  the  left-hand  nest ; 
although  it  is  only  a  question  of  minutes  before  he  too  takes  the  fateful  plunge. 
And  at  last  he  takes  it,  only  unfortunately  he  seems  to  lose  his  head  in  the 


THE  ROOK   WITH   HF.K  CLAMOURING   FAM1LV 


A  ROOKERY  IN  SPRING  25 

excitement  of  the  effort,  and  tries  vainly  to  land  on  the  back  of  the  sitting 
female  in  the  next  nest  ! 

This  behaviour  is  naturally  much  resented,  and  the  young  Rook  soon 
finds  himself  pushed  overboard,  where,  hanging  almost  upside  down,  but 
clinging  on  desperately  with  his  extraordinarily  strong  feet  and  sharp  talons, 
he  finds  himself  in  a  poor  strategic  position,  and  the  target  for  a  series  of  sharp 
jabs  from  the  old  female's  beak  ! 

At  length  thoroughly  exhausted,  and  no  doubt  smarting  from  his  injuries, 
the  young  Rook  collapses  and  is  only  saved  from  a  premature  descent  to  earth 
by  a  branch  that  happily  chances  to  spread  just  below  him. 

He  soon  recovers  his  composure,  however,  and  is  presently  perched  almost 
as  high  as  his  brother ;  where,  amongst  a  company  of  some  half-dozen  other 
young  Rooks,  and  two  or  three  old  ones,  he  seems  at  least  temporarily  satisfied. 

It  is  whilst  the  old  and  young  Rooks  are  thus  sitting  in  groups  that  one 
notices  particularly  the  strange  characteristic  which  enables  one  to  differentiate 
between  them.  Whereas  the  immature  Rook  has  at  the  base  of  the  beak 
a  black  feathery  moustache-like  growth  which,  as  it  were,  lies  along  the  upper 
mandible,  and  is  very  similar  to  the  '  moustache  '  a  magpie  or  crow  possesses, 
the  mature  bird  has  the  base  of  the  bill  surrounded  by  bare,  greyish-coloured 
skin  ;  by  which,  as  may  be  seen  from  the  illustrations,  it  may  readily  be  dis- 
tinguished from  the  Carrion  Crow. 

Our  period  of  observation  at  an  end,  and  the  return  of  our  companion 
expected  at  any  moment,  we  will  close  this  chapter  by  reminding  the  reader 
that  during  the  hours  which  we  have  spent  in  the  observation  post,  some 
rather  trying  moments  have  been  experienced. 

Cramp  and  mosquitoes  are  the  two  most  common  troubles — and  one  wonders 
what  mosquitoes  are  doing  at  such  a  height.  Then  of  course  the  seat  is  none  too 
comfortable,  and  shoddy  bags  do  not  make  the  pleasant est  of  summer-houses. 

However,  there  are  many  redeeming  features,  and  among  them  the  fact 
that,  first  of  all,  the  Rooks  have  behaved  exceedingly  well,  and  secondly  that 
there  was  never  any  need  to  remain  absolutely  quiet,  for  the  Rooks  have 
made  sufficient  continuous  noise  to  drown  any  sound  that  the  observer  might 
accidentally  produce. 


CHAPTER  II 

The    Buzzards   of  the   Doone   Country 

WITH  the  exception  of  the  Golden  Eagle,  the  Buzzard  has  perhaps 
the  most  impressive  appearance  of  all  our  wild  birds.     His  great 
dark-tipped  wings  with  their  widely  separated  primaries  stamp  him 
at  once  as  a  bird   of  the  highest  altitudes ;  whilst  his  flat  forehead,  curved 
bluish-black  beak,  and  fierce  deep-set  eyes  suggest  a  creature  of  deadly  intent 
and  immovable  purpose. 

Soaring  high  in  the  air  above  the  wild  undulating  moorlands,  he  is  so 
conspicuous  as  to  attract  and  hold  the  attention  of  all  who  take  pleasure  in 
so  unusual  a  sight. 

With  such  majestic  ease  does  he  wheel  aloft,  mounting  skywards  without 
the  least  apparent  effort  on  outstretched  motionless  wings,  that  one  might 
well  conclude  that  he  must  surely  be  classed  among  such  outstanding  fliers 
as  the  Hobby  and  the  Peregrine. 

Yet,  in  spite  of  his  formidable  appearance  and  graceful  aerial  evolutions, 
the  Buzzard  is  not  by  any  means  a  powerful  flier,  and,  moreover,  he  is  possessed 
of  a  comparatively  poor  spirit :  in  fact,  when  one  considers  the  type  of  food 
upon  which  he  usually  preys,  one  is  inclined  to  marvel  at  the  methods  of 
certain  game-preserve  owners  who  have  allowed  Buzzards  to  be  obliterated 
on  every  possible  occasion. 

Perhaps  the  Buzzard,  like  the  Kestrel  and  the  Little  Owl,  has  been  accused 
of  taking  too  great  a  toll  of  the  game-birds  ;  but  those  of  us  who  are  acquainted 
with  the  flight  of- — for  instance — a  covey  of  partridges  before  a  good  game 
hawk,  and  have  noted  the  agility  with  which  they  are  able  to  take  advantage 
of  cover,  will  realize  the  absurdity  of  the  suggestion. 

The  Buzzard,  who  either  grabs  his  quarry  at  the  first  dash,  or  swings  by 
it  like  an  express  train  whose  brakes  have  failed  to  act,  would  have  a  very 
poor  chance  of  taking  a  full-grown  partridge,  and  we  may  be  sure  that,  in 
the  case  of  cheepers,  or  newly-hatched  young,  the  warning  cry  of  the  old  bird, 
which  would  be  uttered  the  instant  the  form  of  the  Buzzard  loomed  into 
view,  would  cause  the  whole  family  to  vanish  into  hiding  as  though  by 
magic. 

27 


28  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

Still,  the  fact  remains  that  the  Buzzard  is  '  obtained  '  annually  in  such 
numbers  as  would  lead  us  to  suppose  that — were  it  not  for  the  last  few 
inaccessible  or  protected  strongholds,  he  would,  like  the  Kite  and  the  Osprey, 
be  on  the  verge  of  extinction. 

Strangely  enough,  this  imposing  bird,  towards  whose  soaring  form  many 
admiring  eyes  will  be  turned,  is  of  a  somewhat  slothful  nature,  for  he  feeds 
largely  upon  such  undignified  food  as  lizards,  mice  and  earthworms  ;  and 
may  be  trapped  on  dead  bait  more  easily  than  any  other  of  our  birds  of 
prey. 

A  rabbit's  paunch  effectively  arranged  will  generally  prove  sufficiently 
attractive  to  appeal  to  the  Buzzard's  '  penchant '  for  this  delicacy. 

Such  a  large  bird  cannot  be  expected,  of  course,  to  rear  its  family  of 
voracious  young  upon  such  meagre  food  as  beetles  and  earthworms,  and  must 
of  necessity  resort  to  killing  creatures  of  more  substantial  proportions  ;  just 
as  the  modest  Kestrel,  when  it  has  a  family  to  rear,  will  tackle  and  secure 
such  formidable  opponents  as  blackbirds  and  starlings. 

One  is  prompted — when  considering  the  nature  of  the  Buzzard's  food — 
to  wonder  why  the  bird  should  have  been  so  adversely  criticized  by  famous 
ornithologists. 

He  has  been  called  '  cowardly,'  sluggish,  degenerate,  and  so  forth,  but 
after  all,  none  of  us  are  perfect,  and  one  cannot  expect  a  bird  which  has  not 
been  equipped  by  Nature  with  the  powers  of  flight  of  a  Hobby,  to  provide 
such  a  dashing  demonstration  of  wing  power  as  that  little  Falcon  unconsciously 
displays.  He  cannot  be  more  than — by  comparison — a  poor  flier.  Neither 
can  we  presume  that  a  bird  not  endowed  by  Nature  with  the  Goshawk's  lust 
for  killing,  should  be  anything  but — by  comparison — a  lethargic  chicken- 
hearted  creature.  One  does  not  hear  of  Owls  being  recorded  as  *  dastardly  '  or 
'  stupid.' 

And  in  the  writer's  opinion  the  Buzzard  is  not  in  any  sense  cowardly  or 
sluggish.  He  certainly  would  seem  to  feed  mainly  upon  young  rabbits — 
probably  because  they  are  a  most  satisfactory  quarry  from  every  point  of 
view.  They  are  to  be  found  in  countless  numbers  ;  they  are  comparatively 
easily  picked  up — during  their  preoccupation  of  feeding,  and,  lastly,  their 
flesh  seems  admirably  to  suit  the  requirements  of  the  young  Buzzards. 

But,  if  put  to  the  test,  the  Buzzard  can,  and  will,  hold  an  energetic  full- 
grown  rabbit ;  and  does  so  with  a  determination  that  cannot  be  shaken  by 
the  rabbit's  most  violent  struggles  to  free  itself. 

Surely  the  most  critical,  the  most  superior,  of  us  humans  cannot  call 
him  sluggish  as,  exerting  every  ounce  of  strength,  he  makes  in  a  bee-line  for 
the  selected  quarry.  Almost  stooping  as  he  comes  down  from  his  '  pitch,' 
he  swings  along  at  considerable  speed,  and  binds  to  his  victim  with  a  grip 
from  which  there  is  no  hope  of  escape.  If  he  chances  to  seize  the  prey  by 


THE   YOUNG 
I5UZ7ARDS 


TIIK    IH'/ZARD 
SKI/IXC    HIS    I'KKV 


THE  BUZZARDS   OF  THE  DOONE  COUNTRY          29 

some  awkward  portion,  such  as  a  hind  leg,  he  endeavours  with  his  disengaged 
foot  to  grasp  its  head,  and  if  he  succeeds,  any  struggles  on  the  part  of  the  victim 
are  hopeless. 

One  might  be  justified  in  terming  a  Buzzard  '  dastardly,'  if  it  should 
chance  to  grip  one's  naked  hand  in  its  vice-like  clutch. 

Buzzards  feed  upon  moles  to  quite  a  considerable  extent,  and  easily  pick 
up  these  little  animals  in  the  dry  summer  weather,  but  the  writer's  experiences 
would  point  to  the  fact  that  they  prefer  rabbit  to  any  other  food.  It  is  a 
quaint  fact  that  the  Buzzard  will  attack  such  modest  opponents  as  lizards  and 
Moles,  with  as  much  fierceness  and  impetuosity  as  he  does  the  strongest  rabbits  ; 
although  in  the  case  of  the  smaller  quarry  he,  in  his  ardour,  usually  grasps 
handfuls  of  grass,  among  which  the  victim  is  literally  crushed  to  death  ! 

So  the  Buzzard  might — from  our  point  of  view — be  described  as  '  simple,' 
and  perhaps  also  unnecessarily  provident,  when  it  is  told  that  in  spite  of  his 
comparatively  clumsy  flight,  he  contrives  to  carry  to  the  nest  food  far  in  excess 
of  the  requirements  of  his  family. 

The  Buzzard's  special  forte — where  flying  is  concerned — is  soaring — and 
he  soars  more  beautifully  than  any  other  British  bird.  The  question  how  a 
bird  can,  without  any  appreciable  effort,  travel  in  such  circles  and  gradually 
rise  to  such  vast  heights  has  often  been  raised. 

It  would  seem,  to  the  writer,  that  the  reason  that  the  Buzzard  is  able  to 
do  this  more  successfully  than  the  other  hawks  is  that  he  has  a  relatively  small 
body  and  unusual  spread  of  wing — that  he  takes  advantage  of  the  least 
breeze,  and  mounts  in  the  air  very  much  after  the  manner  of  a  kite.  He  seems 
to  allow  himself,  with  wings  full  spread,  to  drift  on  the  breeze  for  a  distance — 
— then  with  the  impetus  so  gained,  he  describes  a  large  curve  until  he  is  facing 
the  wind,  in  which  position  he  is  carried  slightly  upwards.  As  he  loses 
his  momentum,  he  describes  the  other  half  of  his  circle,  and  travelling 
with  the  wind  for  a  while,  again  gathers  sufficient  impetus  for  another  turn 
against  it. 

Sparrow-Hawks  and  Kestrels  also  soar,  but  not  nearly  to  the  same  extent, 
and  generally  flap  their  wings  when  travelling  on  the  downward  side  of  the 
circle,  in  order  to  gain  the  required  amount  of  impetus  to  carry  them  upwind. 

In  any  case,  a  soaring  Buzzard  is  a  most  impressive  sight,  and  may  easily 
be  mistaken — in  a  possible  district — for  a  Golden  Eagle. 

Buzzards  commence  to  build  in  about  the  beginning  of  May,  often  on 
the  ledge  of  a  cliff  overhanging  the  sea,  but  at  times  among  the  upper  branches 
of  a  deciduous  tree,  perhaps  most  frequently  in  an  ash.  They  return  annually 
to  the  same  breeding-areas,  like  the  majority  of  our  hawks,  and  in  consequence, 
if  the  enthusiast  spends  much  of  his  time  in  a  district  which  they  inhabit,  he 
will  probably  have  little  difficulty  in  discovering  a  nest,  if  he  should  desire  to  do 
so,  for  the  Buzzard  cannot  be  considered  a  rare  bird. 


30  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

When,  however,  the  writer  visited  the  part  of  the  country  we  are  now  refer- 
ring to,  he  experienced  considerable  difficulty  in  finding  a  Buzzard's  nest. 

Of  course  the  shapes  of  Buzzards  soaring  high  in  the  evening  air,  sometimes 
three  or  four  together,  were  very  encouraging  and  inspiring  ;  but  after  having 
spent  several  days  of  fruitless  endeavour,  the  only  way  of  solving  the  problem 
seemed  to  be  to  ask  the  natives  if  they  had  ever  come  across  a  Buzzard's  nest 
anywhere. 

The  replies  were  very  interesting,  but  not  altogether  what  was  wanted. 
For  he  learnt  that  the  Buzzards'  nests  were  exceedingly  difficult  to  find  ;  that 
they  were  usually  constructed  in  some  precipitous  cliff  overhanging  the  sea, 
that  the  birds  laid  as  many  as  six  eggs,  and  fed  largely  on  lambs. 

A  little  more  persuasion,  and  maybe  the  informants  might  have  been 
encouraged  to  declare  that  they  sometimes  even  carried  off  babies  ! 

The  writer  had,  '  before  the  war,'  been  lowered  on  a  rope  to  some  Buzzards' 
nests  in  the  cliffs  of  our  south-western  shores — and  now  seriously  contemplated 
making  a  trip  to  the  sea  coast.  Being,  however,  particularly  interested  in  the 
tree-nesting  birds  of  these  Islands,  he  decided  to  continue  the  search  among 
the  wooded  country  on  the  edge  of  the  moors. 

For  a  time  the  hunt  was  continued  without  any  indication  of  a  nest — 
except  that  one  evening  a  Buzzard  was  seen  flying  low  over  a  beech  hedge 
towards  some  distant  trees,  the  consequent  search  revealing  only  a  Kestrel's 
nest  with  eggs,  and  a  magpie's  nest  containing  a  solitary  young  Tawny  Owl. 

The  next  day,  however,  a  Buzzard  was  seen  at  really  close  quarters. 
Fifty  yards  ahead  of  us  as  we  approached  across  the  moor,  he  rose  from  the 
side  of  a  mountain  stream  where  apparently  he  had  been  indulging  in  a  bath  ; 
at  any  rate,  he  settled  on  a  rock  some  200  yards  away,  and  by  the  aid  of  the 
glasses  we  watched  him  preening  himself  and  arranging  his  feathers  with  the 
utmost  solicitude. 

The  Buzzard,  in  spite  of  his  evil  reputation,  is  much  addicted  to  a  bath ; 
probably  even  more  so  than  many  of  his  more  distinguished  relatives. 

The  direction  of  his  flight  when  he  eventually  did  take  wing  was  no  guide 
to  the  location  of  the  nest,  as  he  straightway  soared  to  an  immense  height, 
and  at  length  disappeared  from  view. 

The  following  day,  whilst  sitting  on  a  bank  overlooking  a  deep,  partially 
wooded  valley,  and  discussing  the  possibility  of  a  visit  to  the  seashore,  the 
writer — or  his  companion — chanced  to  spy  in  a  distant  tree,  a  dark  lump  that 
looked  from  such  a  distance — probably  a  good  half-mile — like  a  large  nest. 
Closer  investigation,  with  the  aid  of  glasses,  showed  that  it  certainly  was  a 
nest,  and  by  all  appearances  a  new  nest. 

Hoping  devoutly  that  it  wouldn't  turn  out  to  be  a  crow's,  and  not  daring  to 
suggest  even  to  one  another,  that  it  looked  as  though  it  ought  to  be  a  Buzzard's, 
we  collected  our  belongings  and  set  out  towards  it. 


THE   BUZZARDS   OF  THE  DOONE   COUNTRY          31 

On  the  way,  one  of  us  remarked  in  an  off-hand  manner  that  it  looked 
exactly  like  the  pictures  that  one  has  seen  of  a  Kite's  nest,  and  built  high  up 
in  the  fork  of  one  of  a  clump  of  tall  ash  trees  on  a  steep  hill-side,  surrounded 
by  the  wild  beauty  of  the  Doone  country,  the  eyrie,  now  only  about  200  yards 
away,  really  looked  extraordinarily  impressive. 

And  a  moment  later  we  saw  a  huge  Buzzard — almost  golden-brown  on 
the  upper  parts  it  seemed — rise  from  the  nest,  and  spreading  her  great  wings, 
swing  out  and  away  over  the  valley. 

The  excitement  of  the  enthusiast  at  such  a  moment  cannot  be  described — 
possibly  it  borders  on  the  ridiculous  !  In  any  case  the  tree  was  reached  in 
an  incredibly  short  time,  and  the  discovery  soon  made  that  it  would  be  no 
easy  matter  to  climb  it. 

From  the  top  of  the  hill  we  found  that  a  good  view  of  the  nest  could  be 
obtained,  and  with  the  help  of  the  glasses  we  could  see  that  there  were  some 
young  Buzzards  on  it — at  least,  an  indistinct  white  mass  suggested  young 
Buzzards  in  down. 

This  discovery  led  to  renewed  efforts  to  negotiate  the  tree,  and  at  length, 
with  the  help  of  a  long  larch  pole,  the  thing  was  accomplished — though  not 
without  a  good  deal  of  exertion,  for  to  '  swarm  '  up  thirty-five  feet  of  ash  stem  to 
the  lowest  branch  is  not  an  easy  business,  particularly  when  the  trunk  is  too 
large  to  allow  the  climber  to  clinch  his  fingers. 

All  this  time  the  female  Buzzard  with  motionless  wings,  on  which  we 
could  distinctly  see  the  alternate  black  and  white  bars,  described  great  circles 
above  the  tree,  at  the  same  time  uttering  a  loud  intermittent  mewing  cry, 
which  indeed  she  did  whenever  the  nesting-tree  was  approached  too  closely. 

There  is  a  certain  uncanny  charm  about  this  mewing  of  the  Buzzards — 
a  strange  wildness  that  is,  without  doubt,  enhanced  by  the  grandeur  of  the 
surroundings. 

The  nest  was  found  to  contain  three  young  ones  (and  this  is  the  usual 
number),  two  females  and  one  male,  which,  judging  by  the  fact  that  their  feathers 
were  just  coming  through  the  down,  must  have  been  about  two  weeks  old. 

One  can  usually  determine  the  sex  of  young  hawks  in  the  nest  by  the 
varying  sizes  at  the  same  age,  the  females  being  larger  than  the  males,  though 
the  difference  in  the  case  of  Buzzards  is  not  so  marked  as  with  most  of  the 
other  hawks. 

On  the  sides  of  the  nest  were  two  large  piles  of  young  rabbits — a  total  of 
thirty-five — far  more  of  course  than  the  young  Buzzards  could  ever  hope  to 
consume.  Those  on  the  top  of  the  pile  were  quite  fresh,  evidently  having  been 
secured  the  same  day  :  though  the  less  recent  additions  at  the  bottom  of  the 
pile  had  been  in  position  so  long  that  they  were  literally  a  mass  of  maggots. 
All  of  these  young  rabbits  had  been  roughly  plucked  and  practically  all  had 
had  their  intestines  removed. 


32  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE  TREE  TOPS 

It  is  common  knowledge  that  the  males  of  our  smaller  hawks  carefully 
pluck  the  bodies  of  any  birds  they  may  secure  before  carrying  them  to  the 
nest ;  but  it  may  not  be  generally  known  that  the  Buzzard,  obeying  the  same 
instinct,  prepares  his  rabbit  food  in  the  same  way. 

Whilst  I  was  examining  these  trophies  on  the  nest,  the  male  Buzzard  arrived 
with  yet  another  young  rabbit  hanging  from  his  talons  !  On  seeing  me,  how- 
ever, he  turned  aside,  dropped  the  rabbit  and  later  joined  his  mate  as  she 
circled  and  mewed  in  the  sky. 

The  nest  turned  out  to  be  rather  unsatisfactory  from  the  photographic 
point  of  view,  the  only  possible  tree  in  which  the  camera  could  be  fixed  being 
too  far  away.  However,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  make  the  best  of 
things,  and  an  '  imitation  camera,'  consisting  of  a  bundle  of  ferns  tied  up 
with  string — was  accordingly  placed  in  position  in  the  neighbouring  tree  at  a 
point  overlooking  the  nest. 

And  having  completed  these  preliminaries,  we  quietly  withdrew. 

In  two  days'  time,  another  visit  was  paid  to  the  Buzzards'  tree ;  this 
time  with  the  idea  of  constructing  a  hiding-place  into  which  a  string  from  the 
camera  could  be  run,  and  which  might  be  pulled — in  order  to  release  the  shutter 
— at  the  psychological  moment. 

As  we  drew  near  to  the  trees  one  of  the  Buzzards — the  female,  in  all  proba- 
bility— flew  up  from  the  ground  under  the  nest,  and  dropped  a  young  rabbit 
which  was  quite  warm.  As  we  worked  on  the  hiding-place  wre  heard  both  of 
them  mewing,  and  saw  them  soaring  above  us — and  doubtless  watching  every 
movement ! — at  an  immense  height. 

That  same  evening  another  visit  was  paid  to  the  Buzzards,  and  this  time, 
by  creeping  along  behind  a  beech  hedge  we  got  quite  close  to  the  trees  without 
ourselves  being  seen. 

The  female  was  on  the  nest,  and  through  the  glasses  we  could  see  that 
she  was  lying  on  the  side  of  the  nest  by  the  young  ones,  very  much  in  the  same 
way  as  the  female  Rook  did  when  the  young  were  too  large  for  her  to  brood. 

Presently,  from  the  direction  of  the  moors,  we  saw  the  male  coming  in 
with  another  ill-fated  young  rabbit — about  half-grown — hanging  from  his 
talons.  Somehow  it  reminded  me  of  an  old  print  which  impressed  me  very 
deeply  years  ago,  and  which  portrayed  an  owl  flying  along  with  a  live  stoat 
hanging  by  the  teeth  from  its  throat. 

The  male  Buzzard  meanwhile  continued  towards  his  home  tree,  and  when 
he  drew  near,  planed  down  to  within  some  ten  feet  of  the  ground,  and  then  on 
outstretched  wings,  suddenly  swung  upwards  and  on  to  his  nest.  On  his 
arrival  the  female  stood  up,  but  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  relieve  him  of  his  catch  ; 
nor  did  she  object  to  his  tearing  some  small  pieces  from  the  rabbit  which  he 
had  brought,  and  delivering  them  to  one  of  the  not  too  eager  young  ones. 

Anxious  no  doubt  that  the  larder  should  be  plentifully  stocked,  the  male 


THE  MALE   BUZZARD   DEPOSITS  VKT   ANOTHER   RABBIT 
OX  THE   NEST 


THE  BUZZARDS  OF  THE  DOONE  COUNTRY          33 

then  swung  out  of  the  tree,  and  disappeared  once  again  in  the  direction  of  the 
moors. 

Two  days  later  it  was  decided  that  photography  should  be  attempted, 
and  in  due  course  the  actual  camera  was  substituted  for  the  bunch  of  ferns,  a 
string  was  run  through  a  series  of  screw  eyes  to  the  foot  of  the  camera  tree, 
and  thence  to  the  operator's  hiding-place,  and  the  dark-slide  withdrawn  in 
readiness  for  an  exposure. 

Meanwhile  both  of  the  old  Buzzards  were  soaring  overhead,  and,  of  course, 
watching  all  the  arrangements. 

This  was  a  difficult  piece  of  country  in  which  to  outwit  the  keen-eyed 
Buzzard,  for  since  there  was  no  cover  he  could  see  from  his  position  on  high 
all  that  was  going  on  below,  and  incidentally  any  one  who  entered  the  hiding- 
place. 

After  a  considerable  wait,  however,  the  female  Buzzard  returned  to  the 
nest,  and  distributed  some  portions  of  rabbit  among  the  family.  Then  for  a 
time  she  sat  at  the  side  of  the  nest,  resting  and  preening  her  feathers.  Presently 
she  walked  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  nest,  picked  up  a  small  rabbit,  and 
after  some  slight  hesitation,  flew  off  with  it.  In  about  fifteen  minutes  she 
returned  without  the  rabbit,  and  continued  to  rest  and  preen  as  before. 

About  two  hours  later  the  male — bearing  another  small  rabbit — joined 
her.  On  this  occasion  the  young  Buzzards  did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  least 
degree  hungry — the  first  young  hawks  in  the  wild  state  I  have  ever  seen  that 
were  not  ready  for  food. 

Before  leaving  that  evening,  I  climbed  up  to  the  nest  and  purloined  some 
half-dozen  of  the  newly-gathered  young  rabbits.  They  are,  in  the  fried  state, 
excellent  for  breakfast. 

I  noticed,  whilst  at  the  nest,  that  the  Buzzards  had  been  decorating  it 
with  some  fresh  leafy  twigs  from  one  of  the  beech  trees. 

Whilst  at  the  nest  on  our  next  \isit,  we  remarked  that  the  Buzzards  were 
less  timid  than  on  previous  occasions  ;  they  both  soared  at  a  much  lower 
elevation,  the  female  ultimately  settling  on  a  small  beech  tree  growing  from 
one  of  the  beech  hedges  so  common  in  the  district. 

This  apparently  insignificant  incident  led  to  a  most  interesting  exhibition 
— which  at  least  proved  that  the  Buzzard,  although  a  slow  flier,  is  capable  of 
performing  some  remarkable  evolutions  in  the  air. 

It  so  happened  that  in  the  beech  hedge  was  a  Carrion  Crow's  nest,  con- 
taining almost  fully  grown  young  ones — and  the  parent  crows,  noting  the 
proximity  of  the  great  bird  of  prey,  evidently  decided  that  drastic  action  must 
be  taken,  for  the  Crow,  like  his  cousin  the  Rook,  heartily  abhors  the  Buzzard 
and  his  tribe. 

Soon  both  of  the  crows  were  in  the  air,  circling  and  half-hovering  over 
their  enemy's  head.  Then  one  of  them,  with  wings  thrown  back,  would  put 

E 


34  WILD   LIFE  IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

in  a  dashing  stoop,  so  accurately  timed  that  the  astonished  Buzzard  would 
duck  his  head  to  avoid  that  black  form  that  whizzed  by  him  like  a  shell  from 
a  field  gun. 

And  hardly  had  he  recovered  from  the  shock  than  the  other  crow,  turning 
over  in  the  air,  would  follow  with  another  well-timed  shot,  and  again  the 
Buzzard  flinched  involuntarily  as  the  sable  form  flashed  past. 

By  this  time  the  first  crow,  who  had  really  thrown  up  to  a  most  creditable 
height,  was  in  position  for  a  second  stoop,  and  with  the  advantage  of  a  greater 
height  to  help  his  speed,  the  shot  was  considerably  harder  than  the  preceding 
one,  so  hard  that,  as  he  almost  struck  the  Buzzard's  head,  he  literally 
bounced  again  into  the  air. 

Things  seemed  to  be  becoming  altogether  too  hot  for  the  demoralized 
Buzzard,  who,  since  he  was  clinging  to  the  beech  branch,  was  quite  unable 
to  defend  himself.  So  spreading  his  wings  he  set  out,  with  slow  dignified  flight, 
to  more  restful  quarters  across  the  valley. 

The  crows,  whose  morale  was  much  improved  by  this  development, 
redoubled  their  efforts,  and  following  up  the  retreating  form,  put  in  stoop 
after  stoop,  uttering  as  they  did  so  the  curious  harsh  chattering,  almost  shrill 
'  caws,'  that  a  rook  makes  when  shifting  from  a  Falcon. 

Our  dignified  friend  was  now  becoming  thoroughly  roused,  and  all  at 
once,  just  as  one  of  the  crows  swept  towards  him,  he  suddenly  turned  upside 
down  in  the  air,  and  struck  like  lightning  with  his  talons  at  his  adversary  ; 
only  missing  him,  it  seemed,  by  the  fraction  of  an  inch.  This  ruse  had  the 
effect  of  distinctly  damping  the  ardour  of  the  crows,  for  they  kept  at  a  more 
respectful  distance,  and  only  stooped  in  a  half-hearted  way,  not  wishing  to 
come  to  grips  with  the  Buzzard. 

At  length  they  gave  up  the  chase,  and  retired  in  the  direction  of  their 
home. 

But  our  friend  was  not  allowed  to  travel  far  in  peace,  for  now  he  was 
traversing  an  area  occupied  by  another  pair  of  crows  ;  and  these  carried  on 
the  work  of  the  first.  The  unfortunate  Buzzard  again  experienced  the  annoy- 
ance of  having  first  one,  and  then  the  other  crow  attacking  him  from  the  rear, 
and  again  tried,  by  turning  upside  down  and  snatching  with  his  talons,  to  cut 
down  one  of  his  opponents,  but  again  without  success. 

We  noticed  that  whenever  one  of  our  Buzzards  flew  at  all  close  to  the 
ground,  a  fierce  onslaught  would  be  made  on  him  by  the  pair  of  crows  who 
had  appropriated  the  area  over  which  he  was  passing. 

Perhaps  this  fact  may  have  prompted  the  male  Buzzard — who  like  the 
males  of  other  hawks  seem  to  do  most  of  the  hunting — to  return  from  his 
foraging  expeditions  at  a  considerable  height. 

On  one  occasion  whilst  watching  the  young  Buzzards,  I  saw  a  Magpie  fly 
into  the  tree,  and  take  from  a  branch  below  the  nest  a  piece  of  rabbit— or 


THE   BUZZARDS   OF  THE   DOONE  COUNTRY          35 

rabbit  skin — which  had  fallen  overboard ;  I  have  also  seen  magpies  thus 
searching  for  scraps  of  food  under  a  Heron's  nest. 

Later  visits  to  the  nest  showed  that  the  already  overflowing  larder  had 
been  still  further  replenished  with  supplies  of  young  rabbits,  together  with  a 
few  castings  composed  entirely  of  rabbit's  fur  ;  whilst  the  ground  below  was 
dotted  with  little  patches  of  rabbit  fur,  showing  where  the  Buzzards  had 
plucked  their  victims. 

So  it  would  seem  that  the  Buzzard,  incapable  of  taking  an  assortment 
of  food  for  his  family,  makes  up  for  the  shortcoming  by  procuring  an  abundant 
supply  of  the  one  item  whose  capture  causes  him  the  least  inconvenience. 

A  characteristic  which  it  is  hoped  will  not  be  regarded  too  seriously. 


THE   MERLIN   WITH   TAIL  OUTSPREAD 


CHAPTER  III 

The  Lady's     Hawk 

IT  is  a  strange  thing  that  our  individual  affection  for  birds  should  generally 
somehow  centre  on  one  particular  variety  ;    that  each  one  among  us, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  should  have  a  leaning  towards  some  special 
kind  of  bird. 

There  are  some  who  consider  a  robin  the  most  attractive  of  our  feathered 
friends,  others  who  prefer  a  bird  of  paradise,  or  a  parrot. 

For  my  own  part,  I  must  admit  that  I  have  a  distinct  penchant  for  the 
hawk  tribe.  It  is  difficult  to  say  exactly  why,  unless  it  is  because  they  are  such 
keen,  sporting  creatures. 

There  are  of  course  many  who  regard  a  hawk  as  being  typical  of  cruelty 
— although  in  reality  the  hawk  is  not  more  cruel  than  the  majority  of  other 
birds — only  it  happens  to  be  the  nature  of  a  hawk  to  live  upon  other  creatures, 
irrespective  of  whether  or  not  those  creatures  chance  to  afford  us  pleasure. 

The  thrush  is  not  criticized  for  banging  the  snail  against  a  stone,  nor  the 
owl  for  killing  rats  and  mice — although  such  creatures  doubtless  have  very 
pronounced  views  on  the  subject.  But  then  snails,  and  rats  and  mice,  do  not 
generally  appeal  to  us. 

The  fact  that  hawks  are  so  cruel  as  to  eat  birds,  does  not  prevent  us  from 
accepting  a  brace  of  partridges  when  they  are  forthcoming — or  a  leg  of  mutton 
for  that  matter  ! 

It  is  the  nature  of  the  hawk  to  kill  and  feed  upon  the  flesh  of  other  birds, 
mammals,  or  insects — it  is  its  only  means  of  subsistence;  and  in  order  to 
enable  it  to  obtain  such  food  it  is  endowed  by  Providence  with  extraordinary 
powers  of  flight.  The  methods  of  the  different  kinds  of  hawks  in  pursuing  and 
catching  their  prey,  vary  very  considerably,  and  the  writer  will  attempt  to 
describe  in  the  course  of  this  volume  the  styles  of  flight  of  the  four  small 
British  hawks,  all  of  which  he  has  discovered  nesting  in  trees. 

These  four  varieties  are  : — • 

The  Merlin — the  Hobby — the  Kestrel — and  the  Sparrow-Hawk  ;  and  of 
them  all,  the  little  Merlin,  when  in  pursuit  of  its  prey,  is  without  doubt  by 
far  the  most  persistent. 

37 


38  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE  TREE  TOPS 

In  that  far-off  age  when  Falconry  was  the  sport  of  Kings,  the  Merlin  was, 
on  account  of  its  docile  disposition  and  charming  ways  generally  assigned 
to  a  lady,  and  in  fact  was  known  as  the  '  Lady's  Hawk.' 

The  Merlin  of  to-day,  even  in  the  wild  state,  would  seem  to  be  upholding 
this  enviable  reputation,  and  the  writer  has  never  yet  been  so  fortunate  as 
to  have  had  dealings  with  any  bird  so  good-natured  or  so  confiding  as  the 
little  hawk  appearing  in  the  accompanying  illustrations.  It  is  indeed  a  delight- 
ful experience — and  also  a  very  rare  one — to  meet  a  creature  of  the  wild, 
which  almost  from  the  first  seems  to  recognize  one  as  a  friend. 

The  usual  nesting-places  of  the  Merlin  are  confined  to  the  open  moors 
of  the  North  of  England  and  Scotland,  where  the  little  hawk  deposits  her 
eggs  in  some  slight  depression  of  the  ground  amongst  the  heather.  So  it 
came  as  a  double  surprise  when  hunting  one  day  for  a  Buzzard's  eyrie  in  the 
south-western  corner  of  England,  as  described  in  the  previous  chapter,  we 
not  only  came  upon  a  Merlin's  nest — but  what  was  very  much  more 
remarkable — a  Merlin's  nest  in  a  tree  ! 

In  the  heart  of  such  country,  trees  are,  of  course,  very  few  and  far  between, 
and  it  is  difficult  to  say  why  the  hawks  should  have  selected  such  a  lofty  home, 
particularly  as  acres  of  heather  stretched  in  almost  every  direction. 

It  was  an  uncanny  rushing  noise  high  in  the  air  above  us,  very  much  like 
the  slithering  whine  of  an  approaching  '  heavy,'  that  was  really  responsible  for  our 
first  sight  of  the  merlin  ;  for  glancing  upwards  to  discover  the  cause  of  it,  we 
saw  a  Peregrine  rushing  earthwards  in  a  headlong  stoop.  She  obviously  meant 
business,  but  of  a  sudden,  catching  sight  of  us,  she  turned  from  her  pur- 
pose, and  like  an  arrow,  shot  up  again  into  the  blue. 

Whilst  watching  the  carrion  crows  mobbing  the  Buzzard  we  had  really 
been  rather  deeply  impressed  by  their  manner  of  stooping  and  of  throwing  up 
—but  compared  with  the  style  of  this  expert,  theirs  was  indeed  a  clumsy 
performance. 

For  a  while  we  gazed  at  her  diminishing  form  in  admiration  and  wonder- 
ment. What  on  earth  can  she  have  been  stooping  at  ?  And  then,  down  in 
the  valley  below  where  a  mountain  stream  tinkled  past  a  solitary  clump  of 
beech  trees,  we  saw  what  we  had  not  seen  before— a  female  Merlin  in  hot 
pursuit  of  a  Carrion  Crow. 

A  Merlin  !  Here  indeed  was  an  unexpected,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a 
most  welcome  sight.  And  judging  by  the  persistence  of  her  attacks  upon 
her  sable  enemy,  one  would  imagine  that  she  had  a  nest  somewhere  close 
at  hand.  Soon  the  two  of  them  were  going  hard  at  it  over  the  moor,  the 
crow  avoiding  the  Merlin's  stoops  by  cleverly  shifting  at  the  psychological 
moment.  The  speed  with  which  the  little  hawk  overhauled  the  crow  was 
almost  incredible,  but  since  she  put  in  a  stoop  at  every  few  yards,  and  threw 
up  to  the  same  height  as  that  from  which  she  started,  she  naturally  had  the 


THE   LADY'S   HAWK  39 

advantage  of  the  impetus  gained  by  the  *  drop,'  and  caught  up  the  crow  with 
extraordinary  ease. 

It  is  remarkable  with  what  ferocity  birds  will  drive  away  from  the  vicinity 
of  their  nest  any  creature  which  might  possibly  have  evil  designs  on  their 
eggs  or  young. 

Thus  the  Rook  harries  the  Falcon ;  the  Thrush  the  Owl ;  and  the  Merlin 
the  Crow. 

In  a  short  time  the  pair  of  them  were  almost  out  of  sight ;  the  one  croak- 
ing an  angry  or  terrified  remonstrance,  the  other  pressing  the  attack  with 
undiminished  energy. 

Of  a  sudden  the  Merlin  gave  up  the  chase,  which  had  really  proved  quite 
exciting,  and  turning,  planed  back  in  our  direction. 

Down  among  the  heather  we  dropped,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  catching 
sight  of  the  hawk  again,  her  bluish-grey  plumage  harmonized  so  well  with  the 
moorland  background.  However,  she  was  still  making  straight  towards  us 
in  a  very  definite  kind  of  way,  and  for  the  first  time  I  dared  to  believe  that 
she  must  have  a  nest  somewhere  close  at  hand.  • 

Nearer  she  came,  flying  low  and  straight,  and  for  a  while  the  thought 
that  she  might  pass  overhead  and  see  us  crouching  there  occurred  to  us  ;  but 
to  our  amazement  she  changed  her  direction,  and  swung  upwards  into  the 
top  of  one  of  the  beech  trees. 

For  a  time  we  hesitated  about  venturing  into  the  open,  but  since  nothing 
further  occurred,  we  decided  to  go  forth  and  investigate.  Up  then  we  got, 
and  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  spot  where  we  had  seen  the  Merlin  settle,  we  advanced 
towards  the  beeches. 

On  our  arrival  under  the  trees,  we  almost  immediately  caught  sight  of 
a  crow's  nest,  and  half  expected  to  see  the  Merlin  go  off.  Personally  I  experi- 
enced a  thrill  of  disappointment  when,  on  climbing  up  to  it,  I  found  that  it 
contained  a  single  crow's  egg. 

And  still  there  was  no  sign  of  the  Merlin.  We  began  to  wonder  if  she 
had  gone  off  behind  the  trees  as  we  approached,  and  was  perhaps  at  the  moment 
sitting  on  her  nest  amongst  the  heather.  However,  the  accidental  snapping 
of  a  dead  branch  had  the  effect  of  proving  that  our  fears  were  unfounded :  for 
it  was  greeted  by  the  screaming  of  a  hawk  in  one  of  the  trees  at  the  far  side 
of  the  clump.  Soon  we  had  spied  a  second  crow's  nest,  built  almost  at  the 
extreme  top  of  one  of  the  beeches  ;  and  peering  at  us  over  its  edge,  the  head 
of  the  little  Falcon  ! 

But  in  any  case,  none  of  the  trees  were  really  tall,  the  merlin's  nest 
being  not  more  than  thirty-five  feet  from  the  ground.  And  since  the  tree 
was  quite  a  comfortable  one  to  negotiate,  no  time  was  lost  in  climbing  up  to 
inspect  the  situation,  the  Merlin  going  off  when  the  actual  ascent  was  begun. 

The   nest,  a  typical   crow's,  was   strongly  constructed    and   lined   with 


40  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

quantities  of  sheep's  wool,  and  contained  three  of  the  Merlin's  eggs  ;  which  in 
coloration  are  so  similar  to  Kestrels'  and  Hobbys'  that  unless  one  had  seen 
the  bird  it  would  not  be  possible  to  say  which  of  the  three  they  belonged  to. 
The  nest  was  not  particularly  well  situated  from  a  photographic  point 
of  view.  Still,  a  '  dummy '  camera,  similar  to  that  utilized  in  the  case  of 
the  Buzzard — only  this  time  it  consisted  of  an  old  tin  and  some  beech  leaves 

was  fixed  in  position  as  silently  and  rapidly  as  possible,  and  with  so  much 

success  that  even  whilst  the  writer,  who  had  climbed  the  tree,  was  on  his  way 
to  earth,  the  little  Merlin  returned  to  the  nest,  and  settled  down  upon  her 
charges.  The  confidence  of  the  bird  was  indeed  most  delightful. 

During  the  next  few  days  we  paid  the  Merlin  almost  daily  visits,  and 
found  that  she  actually  grew  tamer  as  time  went  on. 

Sometimes  when  I  climbed  up  to  arrange  the  camera,  she  would  not 
leave  her  nest  until  my  head  was  on  a  level  with  her  ;  and  when  I  had  finished 
she  would  invariably  be  back  upon  her  eggs  before  I  had  reached  the  ground. 
We  noticed  that  if  an  unusual  time  were  taken  in  fixing  the  camera,  she 
would — having  flown  about  the  tops  of  the  trees  for  a  while — go  across  the 
moor  to  a  large  solitary  stone,  shaped  rather  like  a  tombstone,  some  400  or 
500  yards  away,  and  take  perch  there  until  she  thought  the  time  had  come 
when  she  might  return  and  see  if  the  coast  was  clear. 

It  was  never  really  necessary  to  make  a  hiding-place  from  which  to  release 
the  shutter  ;  all  that  one  had  to  do  was  to  sit  quietly  under  the  trees,  and  pull 
the  string  at  the  desired  moment.  She  never  took  the  least  notice  of  the  '  flop  ' 
of  the  shutter,  so  that  as  a  rule  we  did  not  climb  up  at  once,  but  rested  until 
we  thought  that,  without  risk  of  hurting  her  feelings,  we  might  venture  to 
change  the  dark  slide. 

At  length  the  idea  occurred  to  us  of  making  a  hiding-place  by  the  stone  on 
which  she  usually  sat,  for  she  would  be  pretty  certain,  if  disturbed,  to  take 
perch  there. 

So  one  morning  we  set  out  with  pick  and  shovel  to  construct  a  hide  some 
twenty-five  yards  from  the  Merlin's  stone  ;  and  having  dug  through  the  peaty 
surface,  we  eventually  made  a  sort  of  rustic  dugout,  roofed  over  with  stems 
of  heather  and  grasses,  inside  of  which  the  camera  was  duly  installed. 

The  ruse  was  successful,  for  when  put  off  the  nest  by  one  of  us,  the  little 
Merlin,  having  flown  round  the  trees  screaming  some  half-dozen  times,  made 
straight  for  her  stone,  and  sat  there  whilst  some  exposures  were  made. 

On  one  occasion,  whilst  flying  thus  round  the  trees,  she  was  joined  by 
her  mate,  who,  screaming  in  a  shriller  tone,  and  bearing  a  small  bird  in  his 
talons,  seemed  much  upset  on  her  behalf.  As  they  swung  this  way  and  that, 
one  noticed  at  once  the  difference  in  size  between  them ;  for  the  male  Merlin 
(or  Jack),  is  considerably  smaller  than  the  female. 

This  rule  applies  to  all  of  the  hawks,  but  is  more  marked  in  the  case  of 


THE   MERLIN   PURSUING    HtR  QUARRY- 


AND   ON   THE   PLUCKING   STuNE 


THE  LADY'S  HAWK  41 

some  species  than  in  others.  A  male  Sparrow-hawk,  for  instance,  is  an  insigni- 
ficant, peevish  little  fellow  compared  to  his  vastly  heavier  and  more  powerful 
wife.  In  the  case  of  the  Kestrel  the  difference  is  not  nearly  so  marked,  and 
unless  one  can  distinguish  the  markings  it  is  impossible  to  say  at  a  distance 
if  the  bird  is  a  male  or  a  female. 

On  only  one  occasion  did  we  get  a  really  close  view  of  the  male,  and  that 
was  whilst  we  were  resting  under  the  trees  one  extremely  hot  afternoon. 

He  appeared  most  unexpectedly,  arriving  without  a  sound  except  for 
the  suspicion  of  a  flick  of  wing  as  he  settled.  What  an  amazingly  beautiful 
little  thing  he  is  !  So  small,  so  slender,  so  perfectly  formed,  he  looks  the 
acme  of  neatness  and  dexterity. 

He  is  more  brightly  coloured  than  the  female  too ;  his  back  and  tail  are 
much  bluer,  whilst  his  throat  and  breast  are  of  a  brighter  yellowish-red  colour. 

He  had  evidently  caUed  to  see  if  things  were  in  order,  and  soon  left  again, 
apparently  with  the  idea  of  catching  some  food.  In  any  case  he  again  flew 
past  the  trees  some  twenty  minutes  later,  and  uttered  his  call-note. 

Immediately  the  female  left  the  nest,  and  crossing  to  a  bank  some  fifty 
yards  away,  took  from  his  talons  a  small  bird  which  he  had  already  plucked, 
and  carried  it  away  with  her.  When  she  returned  after  having  partaken 
of  her  meal,  she  uttered  the  curious  little  '  chip-chip  '  noise,  as  Kestrels 
do  when  they  have  more  food  than  they  know  what  to  do  with. 

The  male  Merlin  invariably  plucks,  more  or  less  carefully,  any  birds  which 
he  may  catch  for  the  female,  and  usually  selects  a  convenient  molehill,  or 
small  mound,  on  which  to  do  the  work  comfortably.  The  particular  Merlin 
that  we  are  discussing  here  had  a  favourite  plucking-place  in  the  shape  of  a 
rock  projecting  from  a  bank  at  the  side  of  a  stream.  It  was  interesting  to 
examine  the  feathers  around  the  rock  as  one  could  tell  what  birds  the  Merlin 
had  been  feeding  on — and  perhaps  what  birds  it  had  not  been  feeding  on. 

Certainly  there  were  no  grouse  or  partridge  feathers — although  I  cannot 
hope  that  this  piece  of  information  will  influence  those  who  are  in  the  habit 
of  shooting  Merlins — neither  were  there  any  that  had  belonged  to  Plover,  Ring 
Ouzel  or  Missel-Thrush. 

In  fact,  the  feathers  littered  thickly  about  the  rock  originated  on  two 
kinds  of  birds,  and  two  kinds  only — meadow  pipits  and  larks — both  of  which 
species  abound  on  the  moors.  There  are  in  fact  so  many  that  one  would 
not  think  it  would  be  worth  the  Merlin's  while  to  risk  a  trouncing  from  the 
mother  grouse,  by  attacking  her  young  ones. 

It  has  been  said  that  Merlins  have  been  known  to  attack  and  kill  plover 
— but  the  writer  ventures  to  think  that  there  must  be  some  mistake  about  the 
assertion,  unless  the  victims  were  handicapped  in  some  way ;  for  a  mature 
healthy  plover  is  as  fine  a  flier  as  we  can  hope  to  see,  and  it  is  doubtful  if  there 
is  any  hawk  that  can  catch  one. 

F 


42  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

Of  course  it  is  possible  that  the  Merlin  might  appear  suddenly  whilst  the 
plover  were  feeding,  and  bind  to  one  of  them  before  it  had  time  to  realize  what 
was  taking  place ;  but  such  an  occurrence  must  be  extremely  rare,  and  those 
who  have  watched  the  extraordinary  ease  with  which  plover  can  tumble  and 
corkscrew  and  dive  in  the  air,  will  realize  what  a  hopeless  task  any  hawk 
would  have  who  should  attempt  to  catch  one  of  them. 

Nevertheless  the  Merlin  is  an  exceedingly  fast  flier,  and  is  moreover  so  per- 
sistent that  if  she  should  start  in  pursuit  of  some  quarry,  she  will  stick  to 
her  task  until  one  of  three  things  happens  :  She  may  succeed  in  catching 
the  victim ;  it  may  throw  her  off  by  diving  into  cover  and  remaining  motion- 
less, until,  tired  of  vainly  searching  for  it,  she  decides  to  pass  on ;  or  the 
quarry  may  fairly  beat  the  hawk  in  hard  flying — and  the  last  is  not  by  any 
means  an  improbable  finish  to  a  long  flight. 

I  have  watched  a  wild  Merlin  trying  to  come  to  grips  with  a  strong  lark 
high  in  a  cloudless  summer  sky,  and  have  literally  marvelled  that  either  of 
them  should  have  been  able  to  stand  the  test  so  long — for  such  a  flight  involves 
some  furiously  hard  work. 

Each  time  that  the  Merlin  put  in  a  stoop,  the  Lark  would — at  the  precise 
moment,  when,  with  bated  breath  one  unconsciously  whispers,  '  She's  got  him !  ' 
— suddenly  flick  aside,  and  the  little  hawk  having  again  missed  his  mark  would 
throw  up,  and  turn  again  for  another  shot.  Again  the  lightning  rush,  and 
again  the  lark  is  missed  by  'the  skin  of  his  teeth.' 

And  so  they  go  on,  the  one  exerting  every  ounce  of  strength,  and  trying 
by  every  dexterous  move  to  clutch  the  elusive  quarry  ;  the  other,  confident 
in  the  power  of  his  wing,  striving  by  timing  his  shifts  to  the  barest  fraction  of 
a  second  to  avoid  the  deadly  stoops. 

And  so  they  disappeared  from  sight — both  apparently  as  game  as  ever. 

Since  the  Merlin  was  so  popular  among  the  Falconers  of  the  Middle  Ages, 

and  since  in  fact  the  art  of  Falconry  has  never  been  actually  a  lost  one,  a  few 

words  regarding  the  little  Falcon  in  the  trained  state  may  be  of  interest  to  the 

readers  of  these  lines. 

A  trained  Merlin  is  a  most  charming  little  pet,  she  is  so  easily  reclaimed, 
and  so  happy  to  sit  upon  her  owner's  wrist,  that  it  is  small  wonder  the 
ladies  of  old  held  her  in  such  high  esteem.  In  addition  to  these  virtues  the 
Merlin,  when  trained,  seems  to  be  almost— if  not  quite— as  keen  for  the  chase 
as  her  wild  relations. 

It  frequently  happens,  at  least  in  wide  open  country,  that  if  a  trained  Merlin 
should  be  flying  some  bird,  a  wild  hawk  will  wait  about  until  the  '  denoue- 
ment '  is  about  to  occur,  and  then,  benefiting  by  the  Merlin's  perseverance, 
will  cut  in  '  and  snatch  the  reward  from  its  rightful  owner. 

t  have  during  the  past  season  seen  three  different  wild  hawks  thus  cut 
m  and  attempt  to  seize  the  quarry— the  first  was  a  hen  Sparrow-hawk,  who 


THE   LADY'S   HAWK  43 

literally  dropped  head  first  from  the  sky  and  tried  unsuccessfully  to  force  the 
prey  away  from  the  Merlin ;  the  second  was  a  modest  Kestrel  who  likewise 
dropped  from  nowhere,  and  who  so  surprised  the  Merlin  that  she  gave  up, 
and  the  quarry  continued  on  its  way — doubtless  much  relieved  ! 

And  in  the  third  case  the  intruder  was  a  wild  Merlin,  who  co-operated 
with  the  trained  hawk  in  a  most  masterly  fashion,  timing  his  stoops  so  that 
the  two  of  them  never  clashed  ;  so  that  always  one  or  other  of  them  was  pre- 
paring for  a  new  effort— until  she  ultimately  succeeded  in  carrying  off  the 
prize. 

A  trained  Merlin  will  often  demonstrate  the  extraordinarily  keen  sight 
of  these  little  hawks.  As  one  is  walking  along  with  the  hawk  on  the  fist,  she 
will  quietly  turn  her  head  on  one  side  and  look  steadily  into  the  sky ;  on  follow- 
ing the  direction  of  her  gaze  one  can  almost  invariably  discern  the  form  of 
some  bird  of  prey,  perhaps  soaring  at  an  immense  height. 

Two  days  ago  I  was  crossing  some  stubble  in  the  western  part  of  Kent 
with  a  Merlin  on  my  fist ;  three  times  did  she  thus  turn  her  head  and  gaze 
upwards,  and  three  times  did  I,  wondering  what  she  could  see,  attempt  to 
satisfy  myself  on  the  point.  But  I  could  see  nothing — although  the  day  was 
cloudless  and  there  was  no  mist.  And  yet  a  fourth  time  did  my  Merlin  gaze 
aloft. 

I  then  stopped  and  searched  the  sky  as  thoroughly  as  I  might — for  some  time 
without  success — but  at  last  I  made  out,  almost  directly  overhead,  the  form 
of  what  I  think  was  a  Buzzard  or  an  Eagle,  sailing  on  outstretched  wings, 
which  was  at  such  a  vast  height  that  it  would  have  been  really  impossible 
to  identify  it,  I  think,  even  had  I  had  glasses. 

It  has  been  said  that  Merlins  in  the  wild  state  are  in  the  habit  of  killing, 
in  addition  to  plover,  pigeons  and  partridges.  I,  personally,  have  never  seen  a 
Merlin  kill  either  of  these  birds,  but  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  a  Merlin 
would  be  perfectly  capable  of  catching  a  pigeon,  and  of  killing  it  in  a  very  few 
seconds.  But  I  do  rather  doubt  whether  a  Merlin  could  kill  a  full-grown  par- 
tridge. She  could  catch  it,  for  as  before  remarked  the  Merlin  is  a  most  persistent 
hawk,  and  normally  the  partridge  does  not  fly  far — but  I  do  not  think  that  she 
could  kill  it.  A  healthy  partridge  has  an  upsetting  knack  of  beating  with 
its  wings  in  a  most  rough,  energetic  manner,  and  I  hardly  think  that  a  little 
Merlin — who  is  not  nearly  up  to  the  weight  of  the  partridge — would  be  '  man 
enough  '  to  hold  on.  A  sparrow-hawk — yes — but  a  Merlin  I  am  doubtful  about. 

Some  time  ago  I  had  a  trained  Merlin  which  developed  a  sudden  mania 
for  chasing  partridges — for  some  time  without  success,  for  the  crafty  birds 
would  put  in  to  any  cover  that  might  be  available. 

But  at  last,  one  day  she  '  bound  to  '  a  partridge  amongst  some  potatoes ; 
the  rest  of  the  covey,  seeing  their  comrade  in  difficulties,  rushing  in  to  his  rescue, 
and  setting  upon  the  poor  hawk,  soon  had  him  free  ! 


44  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

On  other  occasions  I  have  seen  her  catch  a  partridge,  but  never  did  I 
know  her  to  kill  one. 

The  way  in  which  a  Merlin  kills  a  victim  is  at  least  most  humane ;  for 
she  seizes  it  by  the  neck  in  one  foot,  and  a  foot  that  has  a  grip  of  steel,  and  at 
once  delivers  the  coup  de  grace  by  giving  a  few  sharp  bites  at  the  extreme  base 
of  the  skull.  It  is  all  over  in  a  couple  of  seconds. 

The  Merlin  is  a  migratory  bird,  and  does  not  always  do  well  through  the 
winter,  so  that  in  the  beginning  of  October  the  Falconer  will  see  that  his  Merlins 
are  in  first-rate  condition — will  take  them  into  open  country,  and  relieving  them 
of  their  jesses,  will — with  a  pang  of  regret — fly  them  from  his  fist  for  the  last 
time.  And  now  that  they  are  to  have  their  freedom  once  more,  he  can  only 
hope  and  pray  that  they  may  steer  clear  of  men,  guns  and  traps,  and  that 
they  may  in  due  course  rear  their  young  in  peace. 


CHAPTER  IV 

In  the  Depths  of  a  Fir  Forest 

I  USED  to  think  that  a  fir  forest  was  the  most  unproductive  kind  of  place 
in  which  to  hunt  for  birds'  nests  ;  for  it  always  seemed  that  the  only 
creatures  which  chose  such  gloomy  surroundings  for  their  homes  were 
wood-pigeons  and  jays — and  innumerable  red  squirrels. 

I  was  always  hoping  that  one  day  I  might  come  across  the  nest  of  a  Goshawk 
or  Buzzard  ;  and  well  remember  my  joy  at  hearing  the  mewing  of  some  sparrow- 
hawks,  which  I  firmly  believed  to  be  buzzards — because  I  had  read  that  buz- 
zards are  in  the  habit  of  making  a  mewing  noise. 

But  although  I  never  found  the  nest  of  either  Goshawk  or  Buzzard,  I 
did — one  memorable  afternoon — climb  up  to  a  nest  that  looked  somewhat 
different  to  the  scores  of  squirrel's  '  dreys  '  that  I  had  often  hoped  might  be 
the  nests  of  some  large  bird,  to  find  to  my  unbounded  joy  that  it  contained 
four  Sparrow-hawk's  eggs — the  first  I  had  ever  found. 

At  this  time  I  was  already  bitten  with  the  mania  for  taking — or  attempting 
to  take — photographs  of  birds,  rather  than  for  the  collecting  of  eggs  ;  and  I  really 
put  myself  to  enormous  trouble  in  fixing  a  dummy  camera  in  an  adjacent  tree, 
so  that  the  sparrow-hawks  might  become  accustomed  to  the  unusual  object. 

So  many  times  did  I  go  to  inspect  this  dummy  camera,  and  so  many 
branches  did  I  smash  off  on  my  journeys  up  and  down  the  tree,  that  eventually 
the  place  bore  the  appearance  of  a  piece  of  common  land  after  a  recent  gipsy 
encampment — and  the  tree  looked  like  a  well-worn  brown  bear's  pole. 

Of  course  the  inevitable  happened.  The  attention  of  the  gamekeeper  of 
the  place  was  drawn  to  the  tree  by  its  unnatural  appearance  and  surroundings, 
and  the  nest  was  discovered  by  the  birds'  very  worst  enemy. 

The  female  Sparrow-hawk  was  only  allowed  to  live  a  few  short  days  longer, 
before  being  shot  as  she  returned  to  the  nest  to  attend  to  a  family  of  newly- 
hatched  young  ;  and  then  joined  a  row  of  decaying  stoats,  hedgehogs,  weasels 
and  owls  on  the  keeper's  scrag-pole. 

And  such  is  the  inglorious  end  of  a  pitiable  number  of  the  most  courageous 
of  our  hawks. 

However,  it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good  ;  and  the  empty  sparrow- 

45 


46  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE  TREE   TOPS 

hawk's  nest  was  tenanted  in  the  following  year  by  a  pair  of  Long-eared  Owls. 

These  weird,  cat-like  birds  do  not  build  a  nest  of  their  own,  but,  like  the 
Hobby,  lay  their  eggs  in  the  disused  nest  of  some  other  bird— often  a  crow  or 
magpie— and  sometimes  even  on  an  old  squirrel's  drey. 

I  have  never  found  their  eggs  in  a  wood-pigeon's  nest,  and  should  hardly 
have  thought  such  a  flimsy  collection  of  twigs  a  suitable  receptacle,  but  it  is 
said  that  they  frequently  do  appropriate  such  a  home. 

The  fact  that  the  Sparrow-hawk's  nest  had  been  taken  over  by  the  owls 
was  first  discovered,  when,  on  passing  through  the  wood,  we  happened  to  glance 
up  at  the  ill-fated  nest,  to  see  a  small  head  with  projecting  ears  looking  over 
its  edge  at  us. 

Yet  once  more  the  branchless  trunk  was  negotiated,  and  when  I  had 
ascended  about  half  the  distance  to  the  nest,  the  owl  flew  silently  off,  and 
quickly  disappeared  amongst  the  innumerable  pine  stems. 

Instead  of  the  richly  blotched  eggs  of  the  Sparrow-hawk,  the  nest  now 
contained  four  pure  white  ones  of  the  Long-eared  Owl ;  laid  upon  the  small 
twigs,  and  fir  needles  that  had  fallen  upon  the  nest  during  its  tenantless  months, 
intermixed  with  a  few  of  the  Owl's  breast  feathers. 

It  is  rather  remarkable  perhaps  that  these  eggs  were  discovered  on  May 
12th' — for  it  is  generally  understood  that  the  Long-eared  Owl  lays  her  eggs  in 
March,  or  very  early  in  April — and  as  far  as  my  experience  goes,  generally 
does  so. 

In  due  course,  four  of  the  Owl's  eggs  hatched,  the  young  ones,  contrary  to 
the  usually  accepted  theory,  varying  but  little  in  size. 

For  it  has  been  stated  by  many  authorities  that,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
owls,  including  the  Long-eared  variety,  invariably  commence  to  sit  from  the 
moment  that  the  first  egg  is  laid,  they  always  hatch  their  young  at  such  long 
intervals  that,  by  the  time  the  eldest  is  almost  fully  fledged,  the  youngest  has 
only  just  emerged  from  the  egg. 

The  words  '  always  and  never  '  are  however  dangerous  to  use  where 
natural-history  subjects  are  concerned,  and  I  have  frequently  discovered  nests 
of  Little,  Tawny,  Barn,  or  Long-eared  Owls  containing  families  of  young, 
amongst  which  there  has  been  no  more  diversity  of  size  than  among  a  normal 
family  of  Kestrels— and  one  often  finds  that  the  eldest  of  a  family  of  these 
little  hawks  is  somewhat  further  advanced  than  his  brothers  and  sisters. 

Photography  of  the  young  owls  was  not  attempted  until  they  were  about 
half-grown,  when  it  was  found  that  the  nest  only  contained  two  young  ! 

At  first  I  wondered  whether  the  missing  two  had  tumbled  out,  or  had 
been  carried  off  by  some  enemy ;  but  eventually  discovered  them  sitting  side 
by  side  at  the  top  of  a  dark  pine-tree,  at  about  sixty  yards  from  the  nest. 

I  have  since  noticed  repeatedly  that  young  Long-eared  Owls  are  peculiarly 
addicted  to  this  habit  of  clambering  about  in  the  branches  above  the  nest 


-and  thoroughly  alarmed 


IN  THE  DEPTHS   OF  A  FIR   FOREST  47 

long  before  they  can  fly,  and,  like  young  herons,  use  their  beaks  with  good 
effect  in  the  process. 

The  characteristic  of  preferring  some  convenient  branch  to  the  more 
comfortable-looking  nest  would  seem  to  be  typical  of  them,  and  it  is  owing  to 
this  peculiarity  that  one  so  often  finds  them  at  a  distance  from  the  nest ;  and 
not,  I  think,  that  the  parent  owls  carry  their  young  in  their  feet  from  one 
place  to  another. 

In  the  woods  which  they  frequent  one  may  more  often  find  one  of  them 
sitting  still  as  a  stone  amongst  the  dark  branches  above  the  nest  than  remaining 
as  one  of  a  contented  family  upon  the  scene  of  his  hatching.  Such  little  pere- 
grinations lead  to  their  somehow  reaching  the  extended  arms  of  the  next  tree, 
and  the  next,  until — at  least  as  far  as  their  human  admirers  are  concerned — 
they  are  lost  amongst  the  shadows. 

But  that  the  parents  are  able  and  ready  to  find  and  feed  any  member 
of  their  family  who  happens  thus  to  stray  to  a  distance  is  shown  by  the  follow- 
ing incident — for  the  truth  of  which  I  can  personally  vouch. 

Some  boys,  walking  one  day  through  the  pine  woods  in  which  lay  their 
home,  saw  sitting  in  one  of  the  trees  the  motionless  form  of  a  young,  though 
almost  fully  fledged,  Long-eared  Owl.  At  once,  of  course,  an  altercation  took 
place  as  to  how  it  was  to  be  captured,  the  ultimate  decision  being  that  it  should  be 
driven  from  perch  to  perch  until  tired  out  and  persuaded  to  flutter  earthwards. 

And  at  length,  by  driving  it  with  the  aid  of  clods  of  earth  and  sticks, 
from  the  larger  trees,  and  shaking  it  out  of  the  thinner  ones,  they  managed 
to  bring  it  to  earth,  and  needless  to  say,  carried  it  home  in  triumph  ;  the  ques- 
tion of  food  for  it  not  apparently  having  occurred  to  them. 

So  it  was  placed  in  a  rabbit-hutch  in  the  garden,  with  the  possibility  of 
receiving  some  scraps  of  butcher's  meat  on  the  morrow. 

Next  morning,  however,  ranged  along  in  a  row  just  outside  the  wire  netting 
of  its  cage,  were  the  bodies  of  some  five  or  six  small  birds — mostly  greenfinches, 
which  were,  no  doubt,  in  excess  of  the  young  owl's  requirements — for  it  had 
already  fed  well. 

Each  night  a  fresh  supply  of  birds  was  laid  in  the  same  place  by  the  old 
Owl,  who  was  in  daytime  generally  hanging  about  in  the  trees  close  by. 

In  fact,  not  only  did  she  remain  in  the  vicinity,  but  she  would  actually 
answer  the  tenant  of  the  cottage  when  he  called  to  her. 

'  Jummy,'  he  would  shout,  '  are  you  there  ?  '  and  a  faint  mewing  from 
the  shadows  of  the  pines  would  answer  him. 

But  to  return  to  the  two  owls  on  the  nest.  I  found  that  they  had  grown 
very  considerably  since  I  last  saw  them,  and  had  reached  the  age  when,  instinc- 
tively recognizing  a  human  being  as  an  enemy,  they  endeavour  to  make 
themselves  as  big  and  fearful  as  possible  in  order  to  deter  the  visitor  from 
approaching  too  closely. 


48  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE  TREE   TOPS 

The  largest  of  the  two  puffed  herself  up  to  an  enormous  size,  and  with 
half-spread  raised  wings  and  lowered  head,  swayed  slowly  from  side  to  side, 
at  the  same  time  uttering  a  queer  snapping  noise  with  her  beak.  Should  a 
hand  be  outstretched  towards  her,  she  immediately  gave  a  convulsive  jerk  in 
its  direction,  and  redoubled  her  beak  snappings. 

I  noticed  that  the  smaller  of  the  two  seemed  for  a  time  rather  at  a  loss  to 
understand  the  meaning  of  the  display;  but  at  last  he  too  raised  his  wings 
over  his  back,  puffed  up  his  feathers,  and  snapped  his  beak. 

His  attempt  at  looking  fierce  was  not  very  successful;  for,  perhaps 
in  his  anxiety  to  copy  exactly  his  sister's  attitude,  he  forgot  to  face  the  enemy, 
and  as  seen  in  one  of  the  illustrations,  did  his  display  sideways  !  But  still, 
either  of  these  young  owls  would  put  up  a  good  fight  if  the  intruder  should 
attempt  to  take  hold  of  him,  his  method  of  defence  being  to  throw  himself 
on  his  back,  and  use  both  beak  and  talons  with  the  utmost  freedom. 

No  attempt  on  this  occasion  was  made  to  secure  a  photograph  of  the 
parent  owl—not,  however,  for  the  reason  that  she  would  be  unlikely  to  fly  in 
daylight ;  but  because  the  light  was  so  poor  in  such  a  situation  that  it  is  doubtful 
if  one  could  have  given  a  sufficiently  fast  exposure  to  obtain  a  really  good  result. 

It  is  a  mistaken  idea  to  suppose  that  owls  can  only  see  in  the  dark ;  in 
fact,  of  recent  years,  probably  owing  to  the  shortage  of  mice,  Bam  Owls  have 
commonly  been  seen  hawking  in  the  daytime,  and  I  remember  seeing  one 
return  in  sunlight  to  her  nest  with  a  starling  in  her  talons. 

The  Long-eared  Owl  too  will  hunt  by  day,  and  on  one  occasion,  whilst 
trying  for  some  photographs  of  one  of  them  who  had  taken  over  an  old  crow's 
nest  in  an  oak  tree  (a  somewhat  unusual  position),  I  actually  saw  her  return 
to  the  tree  with  a  cock-sparrow,  which  she  laid  on  the  side  of  the  nest,  and 
which  is  shown  in  one  of  the  accompanying  illustrations.  This  occurred  in  the 
middle  of  the  day. 

I  mention  these  incidents  because  the  opinion  is  sometimes  expressed  that 
owls  can  only  see  vaguely  in  daylight,  and  that  when  being  '  mobbed  '  by  small 
birds,  they  are. — what  with  the  chattering  of  their  pursuers  and  the  demoraliz- 
ing effect  of  the  sunlight,  completely  at  sea. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  they  merely  ignore  such  noisy  fry  as  chaffinches, 
tits,  and  warblers,  and  that  they  are  flustered  only  when  the  aggressors  consist 
of  such  spirited  fliers  as  missel-thrushes,  jackdaws,  or  plover.  And  even  then 
the  owl  usually  keeps  his  head  sufficiently  to  reach  his  destination  without 
going  far  out  of  his  course. 

Although  the  Long-eared  Owl,  like  the  Sparrow-hawk,  feeds  largely  upon 

small  birds,  it  does  not  trouble  much  about  plucking  them ;  the  prey  is  merely 

pulled  to  pieces  and  bolted,  feathers  and  all,  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 

After   a   meal  the   Long-eared   Owl  will  often  sit  motionless  for  hours 

together ;   during  such  periods  it  has  a  quaint  habit  of— as  it  were — sleeping 


A    I.ONG-KAREI)   OWL 

AND   HER   SINGLE   YOUNGSTER 

[A  cock  sparrow  is  lying  on  the  nest.] 


YOUNG 
LONG -EARS 
ALARMED 

[The  smaller  imitates  the  larg 


IN  THE  DEPTHS   OF  A   FIR  FOREST  49 

'  with  one  eye  open,'  for  while  one  eye  is  completely  closed,  the  other  is  as  wide 
open  and  startling  as  ever. 

So  well  does  the  plumage  of  a  Long-eared  Owl  harmonize  with  the  gloomy 
surroundings  as  he  sits  in  the  darkest  shadows  of  a  pine,  that  it  is  often  an 
extremely  difficult  matter  to  discern  him  at  all;  particularly  as  the  owl, 
by  drawing  its  wing  round  it  like  a  cloak,  and  making  itself  appear  as  thin 
and  inconspicuous  as  possible,  looks  for  all  the  world  like  a  piece  of  dead  wood 
that  has  lodged  in  the  tree  ;  and  a  very  different  creature  from  the  same  Owl 
with  feathers  erected,  in  the  act  of  '  displaying.' 

In  those  pine  woods  which  the  Long-eared  Owl  haunts,  one  may  usually 
expect  to  find  the  nest  of  another  bird,  which  also,  in  the  nesting  season,  at 
least,  conceals  its  presence  behind  a  cloak  of  silence  and  stealth  ;  the  jay,  to 
wit. 

One  can  generally  judge  when  the  young  jays  are  on  the  wing  by  the 
loud  squawkings  and  chatterings  that  issue  from  the  wood;  yet  as  long  as 
they  are  in  the  nest  they  and  their  parents  observe  a  complete  and  discreet 
silence. 

Whilst  photographing  a  jay  and  her  young  during  the  past  summer,  I 
noticed  that  the  only  sound  which  the  old  birds  uttered  was  a  high-pitched, 
soft  mewing  cry — which  I  had  not  heard  before.  The  young  ones  seemed 
unable  to  express  their  feelings  verbally  except  by  an  indistinct  noise.  Yet, 
almost  as  they  left  the  nest,  they  commenced  their  harsh  jay  calls. 

The  jay,  like  the  magpie,  sits  exceedingly  tightly  whilst  brooding  her 
eggs  ;  and  one  wonders  whether  she  does  so  in  order  to  escape  observation. 
For  a  jay,  squeezed  so  tightly  on  to  her  nest  that  only  her  tail  and  the  tip  of 
her  beak  are  visible,  will  refuse  to  move  until  some  very  real  danger  threatens 
her,  such  as  an  outstretched  hand  within  a  few  inches  of  her  back. 

But,  if  frightened  off  the  nest,  and  convinced  of  the  fact  that  she  has  been 
discovered,  she  may  spend  some  hours  in  making  up  her  mind  that  she  will 
return  again. 

And  so  the  jay,  whose  habits  are  so  retiring,  is  comparatively  seldom  seen. 
When  it  is  seen,  there  is  no  mistaking  it  however,  for  as  it  flies  away  the  black 
tail  and  white  tail  coverts  distinguish  it  from  other  birds  that  might  occur  in 
the  locality. 

Since  the  war,  jays  have  increased  to  an  extraordinary  extent  in  the 
districts  with  which  I  am  most  familiar,  and  may  be  seen  at  almost  any  time, 
in  fir  forests,  among  the  oaks,  or  in  the  meadows.  The  reason  of  their  having 
so  multiplied  is,  of  course,  that  the  gamekeeping  community  generally  took  some 
part  in  the  war,  and  thus  '  vermin '  had  a  free  run  for  a  while,  and  hawks, 
stoats,  jays,  magpies,  hedgehogs,  and  so  on  multiplied  amazingly.  In  this 
respect  they  are  the  opposite  of  the  little  Red  Squirrel,  which  used  to  be 
quite  common,  but  which  now— alas  !  is  very  seldom  seen. 


50  WILD  LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

In  fact  it  is  only  in  the  fir  forests  that  one  sees  them  at  all  in  these  days  ; 
they  seem  to  have  completely  forsaken — or  been  driven  from — the  great  hollow 
beeches  that  they  used  to  frequent. 

Many  a  time,  in  the  pre-war  days,  have  I  found  a  squirrel's  drey  at  the 
top  of  some  fir-tree,  containing  a  family  of  little  ones.  On  one  occasion  I  put 
my  hand  into  the  hollow  of  a  dead  pine  thinking  that  a  stock  Dove  in- 
habited it,  only  to  find  a  squirming  mass  of  young  squirrels — who  came 
tumbling  out,  and  climbed  up  the  bark  of  the  tree  with  extraordinary  alacrity. 

As  a  rule  the  family  numbers  from  three  to  five,  so  it  might  seem  difficult 
to  say  exactly  why  they  should  have  become  so  rare  in  certain  localities.  I 
am  of  the  opinion  that  such  a  deplorable  state  of  affairs  is  entirely  due  to  the 
importation  of  the  American  Grey  Squirrel. 

A  few  years  ago,  when  the  native  Red  Squirrel  so  often  delighted  us  with 
the  graceful  ease  with  which  it  darted  along  the  slimmest  larch  branches, 
or  leapt  from  the  top  of  one  outstretched  limb  to  the  next,  the  Grey  Squirrel 
was  practically  unknown ;  and  I  well  remember  my  excitement  when  I  first 
saw  one. 

But  to-day  these  little  animals — which  are  still  very  popular  in  the 
London  parks — have  increased  to  an  almost  incredible  extent.  They  were 
of  course  imported  into  this  country,  and  liberated  in  the  hope  that  they 
would  become  established  as  a  breeding  species,  and  have  responded  so  gener- 
ously to  the  confidence  which  was  placed  in  them  that  they  have  not  only  become 
established,  but  so  firmly  that  they  are  now  considered  to  be  far  too  numerous, 
as  well  as  being — it  is  said — destructive  to  various  trees. 

The  pity  is  that  these  two  varieties  of  squirrel  do  not  seem  to  be  on  amic- 
able terms  with  one  another,  and  it  is  a  significant  fact  that  it  is  only  in  those 
situations  where  the  Grey  Squirrel  is  seldom  or  never  found,  that  one  may 
expect  to  see  a  Red  Squirrel  to-day. 

I  have  seen  scores  of  grey  squirrels  recently  ;  I  have  not  seen  a  single 
red  one. 


A   KKL>   SOU1KKKL 


CHAPTER  V 

The  Greater  Spotted  Woodpecker 

BUT  there  is  yet  another  bird  which  frequents  the  fir  forests,  and  which 
is  as  attractive  even  as  the  green  woodpecker  of  the  beech  groves — 
the  Greater  Spotted  Woodpecker. 

The  fact  that  a  pair  of  these  wonderfully  showy  birds  is  in  occupation 
of  a  certain  wood  is  generally  made  obvious  by  the  sharp  penetrating  cry  that 
they  continually  utter.  This  cry  may  be  heard  more  or  less  throughout  the 
year,  but  more  particularly  in  the  nesting  season — especially  if  the  nest  tree 
is  approached  at  all  closely  ;  and  may  be  likened  to  the  sound  produced  by 
striking  two  pieces  of  stone  together— like  the  '  chak  '  of  a  stonechat,  only 
very  much  louder. 

But  although  the  call  may  be  heard  at  some  distance,  and  one  may  be 
attracted  by  it  towards  the  bird,  it  is  comparatively  seldom  that  a  Greater 
Spotted  Woodpecker  is  seen  at  anything  like  close  quarters— unless,  indeed, 
it  be  flying  overhead.  For  like  the  Green  Woodpecker,  it  has  a  habit  of  remain- 
ing hidden  by  keeping  the  stem  of  the  tree  to  which  it  is  clinging  between 
itself  and  the  would-be  observer. 

There  are  certain  districts  in  which  the  Greater  Spotted  Woodpecker  is 
more  numerous  than  the  Green,  although  in  the  part  of  the  country  with  which 
we  are  dealing,  the  latter  is  the  more  general.  One  can  usually  distinguish 
the  nesting-hole  of  a  Greater  Spot  by  its  small  size  and  its  somewhat  elliptical 
shape  ;  that  of  the  Green  being  a  much  more  decided  circle.  Then  the  nesting 
cavity  of  the  former  is  usually  excavated  from  completely  dead  wood,  often 
with  the  walls  so  fragile  that  one  could  break  them  away  with  the  fingers  ; 
whilst  that  of  the  latter  is  usually  dug  from  the  stem  of  a  tree  which  has,  at 
least,  a  sound  exterior,  and  into  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  break  even  with 
a  hammer  and  chisel. 

Like  the  Green  Woodpecker,  the  Greater  Spotted  does  not  invariably 
dig  a  fresh  hole  each  year,  but  occasionally  deepens  the  last  year's  home,  and 
in  either  case,  allows  the  chips  of  wood  thrown  out  to  remain  at  the  foot  of 
the  tree. 

It  is  not  an  easy  matter,  however,  to  discover  the  nesting-hole  of  the  Greater 

51 


52  WILD  LIFE   IN  THE   TREE  TOPS 

Spot  whilst  the  bird  is  sitting,  for  the  type  of  country  it  frequents  is  generally 
covered  with  a  luxuriant  undergrowth,  by  which  such  chips  of  wood  are  effectively 
concealed  ;  and  one  may  well  walk  beneath  the  tree  in  which  the  bird  is  sitting 
without  suspecting  in  the  least  that  she  is  anywhere  near. 

For  the  bird  is  an  exceptionally  close  sitter,  almost  as  much  so  as  the 
Little  Owl,  and  I  have  climbed  a  dead  pine  tree,  at  whose  base  the  tell-tale 
chips  were  scattered,  in  the  hope  of  finding  the  bird  sitting  in  an  apparently 
suitable  hole,  only  to  return  to  earth  perplexed  and  disappointed  ;  for  I  had 
blown  into  the  hole,  and  laying  my  ear  to  it  had  listened  carefully  without 
detecting  the  least  suspicion  of  movement  inside. 

Later  in  the  season,  however,  I  discovered  that  the  young  had  been  hatched 
in  an  old  hole,  some  2  feet  further  up,  and  in  which  the  Woodpecker  must 
have  been  sitting  whilst  I  climbed  the  shaky  tree  almost  to  her  nest. 

The  eggs  of  the  Greater  Spotted  Woodpecker  are,  like  those  of  the  Green, 
glossy  and  pure  white — although  whilst  fresh,  the  yolk  inside  imparts  to  them 
a  pinkish  tinge  which  is  very  beautiful.  They  usually  number  from  four  to 
six,  though  as  many  as  eight  have  been  reported.  The  enthusiastic  oologist 
is  sometimes  terribly  disappointed,  after  having  spent  some  hours  in  digging 
out  a  Greater  Spotted  Woodpecker's  hole,  to  find,  when  at  last  he  is  able  to 
reach  and  withdraw  one  of  the  eggs,  that  it  is  nothing  more  unusual  than  a  vulgar 
starling's  ! 

Starlings  are,  of  course,  just  as  ready  to  appropriate  such  a  convenient 
home  as  any  other,  regardless  of  how  it  may  have  been  formed,  and  a  useful 
method  of  ascertaining  whether  a  pair  of  them  is  in  possession  is  to  climb  the 
tree,  and  sniff  at  the  entrance  to  the  nest — the  distinctive  scent  of  the  starling 
will  quickly  solve  the  problem. 

When  the  young  woodpeckers  are  hatched,  it  is  not  a  very  difficult  matter 
to  locate  them— providing  of  course  that  the  old  birds  are  known  to  be  about, 
— for  they  keep  up  an  almost  constant  chittering,  which  increases  in 
vehemence  as  the  parent  bird  approaches  them,  and  may  be  heard  at  a 
considerable  distance.  Should  the  young  be  left  for  an  unusually  long  time, 
this  metallic  note  will  gradually  subside  to  an  almost  inaudible  whisper,  as 
though,  tired  of  calling  for  food,  they  have  dropped  off  into  a  comfortable 
doze. 

This  little  chittering  cry  is  very  similar  to  the  sound  which  issues  from  a 
Noctule  Bats'  den,  when  the  occupants  are  preparing  for  the  evening  fly  ; 
in  fact,  I  have  more  than  once  mistaken  one  for  the  other.  As  the  young 
woodpeckers  grow  this  cry  develops  into  a  series  of  sharp  little  cries— a  youthful 
imitation  as  it  were  of  the  call  of  the  parents— gradually  merging  into  a  pro- 
longed repetition  '  chip-chip-chip  '—which  one  can  imitate  very  fairly  by 
striking  two  pennies  together.  Not  until  the  young  woodpeckers  are  almost 
ready  to  fly,  however,  is  their  cry  really  resonant  and  determined,  and  at  that 


THE  CHEAT   SPOTTED   WOODPECKER 

[A  youngster's  beak  is  protruding  from  the  nest-hole.J 


THE  GREATER  SPOTTED  WOODPECKER      53 

stage,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Green  Woodpeckers,  the  sound  must  act  as  a  guide 
to  the  old  birds. 

The  bird  figuring  in  the  accompanying  illustration  had  laid  her  eggs  in  a 
freshly  dug  nole,  although  the  chips  which  she  had  thrown  out  were  completely 
hidden  by  the  bracken  growing  at  the  base  of  the  tree,  and  would  have  escaped 
notice  altogether  if  they  had  not  been  looked  for. 

The  nest  was  first  discovered  on  May  24th — and  by  a  queer  accident ; 
for  I  chanced  to  strike  the  stem  of  a  tree  in  which  was  a  sparrow-hawk's  nest, 
merely  to  satisfy  myself — if  the  hawk  should  fly  off — that  she  had  not  suffered 
the  usual  fate.  To  my  surprise,  I  saw  passing  an  opening  in  the  trees  not 
only  the  sparrow-hawk,  but  at  the  same  moment  a  Greater  Spotted  Wood- 
pecker. 

Here  indeed  was  good  fortune,  for  though  the  sparrow-hawk's  nest  was 
in  a  hopelessly  dark  position  for  photographic  purposes — the  Woodpecker's, 
although  perhaps  unusually  high  up — some  55  or  60  feet — was  beautifully 
situated,  as  far  as  lighting  was  concerned,  particularly  since  it  was  in  a  fir  wood  ; 
an  advantage  that  was  greatly  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  the  nesting-hole 
was  at  the  extreme  top  of  the  tree.  Had  it  been  lower,  it  would  undoubtedly 
have  been  correspondingly  badly  lit. 

And  there  is  another  very  distinct  advantage  about  trying  for  photographs 
of  a  bird  whose  nest  is  at  a  great  height  from  the  ground,  and  that  is  the  fact 
that  people  who,  passing  beneath,  happen  to  see  the  imitation  camera  or  the 
observation  post,  do  not  usually  feel  inclined  to  climb  up  and  interfere  with  it. 
There  is  nothing  more  exasperating  than  to  find  that  some  of  the  youths  who 
are  so  frequently  to  be  seen  wandering  aimlessly  about  the  country  on  a  Sunday 
afternoon,  have  taken  the  eggs  or  killed  the  young  birds,  and  thrown  out  the 
imitation  camera. 

The  Woodpecker  having  sat  so  closely  upon  her  young  ones — who  as 
she  left  at  once  began  their  weird  little  bat  notes — pointed  to  the  fact  that 
they  were  newly  hatched,  or  at  any  rate  very  small ;  for  had  they  been  more 
than  a  week  old,  she  would  not  have  been  brooding,  and  would  only  have  gone 
into  the  hole  to  feed  them. 

Consequently  I  judged  that  we  had,  in  all  probability,  a  couple  of  weeks 
in  which  to  arrange,  and  accustom  her  to,  a  dummy  camera.  So  without 
delay  I  collected  a  bundle  of  bracken  and  some  dead  branches,  which  were  to 
serve  as  an  imitation  camera,  and  commenced  to  climb  the  tree  in  which  the 
actual  camera  would  ultimately  be  fixed.  When  I  ascended,  the  chittering  of  the 
young  woodpeckers  grew  louder  as  the  distance  between  us  lessened,  and  I 
wondered  anxiously  whether  two  weeks  would  not  be  too  long  a  time  to  elapse 
before  trying  for  some  photographs. 

However,  I  decided  that  they  could  only  have  been  recently  hatched,  and 
consequently  that  they  ought  not  to  be  on  the  wing  for  about  three  weeks. 


54  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE  TREE   TOPS 

There  was  little  doubt  about  the  parent  woodpecker's  anxiety  to  return  to 
them,  for  she  flew  from  tree  to  tree  constantly,  uttering  her  alarm  note  '  Tchak  '  ! 

Owing  to  bad  weather,  photography  was  impossible— especially  in  the 
fir  woodJMintil  three  weeks  had  elapsed,  and  it  was  really  by  exceptionally 
good  luck,  as  it  turned  out,  that  the  young  woodpeckers  had  not,  by  that 
time,  already  flown.  That  they  had  arrived  at  the  age  when  they  were  on  the 
verge  of  leaving  the  nest  was  evident  by  their  loud  chipping  cries,  and  the 
continual  appearance  of  first  one  and  then  another  little  head,  which  peered 
inquiringly  out  from  the  hole. 

As  is  so  often  the  case,  an  unconscionably  long  time  was  taken  in  fixing  the 
camera,  and  in  persuading  it  to  point  in  the  required  direction  ;  in  fact,  after 
almost  an  hour  of  unsuccessful  effort,  I  fear  that  I  felt  thoroughly  weary  and 
exasperated. 

My  annoyance  was  increased  by  a  glance  below,  which  revealed  my  com- 
panions reclining  easily  amidst  the  cool  shade  of  the  ferns,  lazily  smoking 
cigarettes,  and  laughing  carelessly  over  their. — it  seemed  to  me — foolish  remarks  ! 

Assuming  as  pleasant  a  voice  as  I  could  under  the  circumstances,  I  shouted 
down  to  them  to  ask  if  they  had  completed  the  hiding-place.  At  once  their 
three  pink  faces  gazed  up  at  me  from  amongst  the  bracken,  while  they  com- 
placently replied  that  everything  was  ready  long  ago.  Nevertheless,  I  noticed 
that  they  immediately  commenced  to  be  busily  engaged — no  doubt  to  smooth 
over  my  ruffled  feelings  ! 

So  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  continue  my  endeavours,  and  at  length 
the  camera  was  securely  fixed  ;  the  nest  focused  ;  a  string  run  from  the 
shutter,  through  a  series  of  '  screw-eyes  '  to  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  thence 
to  the  hiding-place  ;  the  shutter  set  ;  the  dark-slide  withdrawn,  and  the  whole 
affair  properly  camouflaged. 

And  then  at  last,  after  an  easy  slide— except  for  the  risk  of  inadvertently 
pulling  the  string — down  the  now  polished  stem  of  the  tree,  to  terra  firma,  I 
entered  the  cool  shadow  of  the  hiding-place,  where  at  least  I  could  stretch  my 
cramped  limbs  and  recover  from  my  recent  exertions. 

My  companions  having '  covered  me  in,'  now  prepared  to  depart,  the  arrange- 
ment being  that  they  should  not  return  until  either  I  let  them  know  that  I 
had  made  some  exposures,  or  the  light  began  to  fail.  And  when  their  voices, 
and  the  sound  of  snapping  twigs  as  they  waded  through  the  undergrowth,  had 
faded  into  the  distance,  I  glanced  through  one  of  the  many  peep-holes  to  see 
if  either  of  the  woodpeckers  were  anywhere  in  sight.  For  a  time  I  neither 
saw  nor  heard  anything— but  was  presently  informed  of  the  fact  that  one  of 
them  was  close  at  hand,  by  a  loud  '  chak,'  which  sounded  from  the  tree  imme- 
diately above  my  head. 

But  although  the  bird  must  have  been  within  a  few  yards  of  me  I  could 
not  see  her,  and  in  fact,  was  so  anxious  that  she  should  not  suspect  my  presence 


THE  GREATER  SPOTTED  WOODPECKER      55 

that  I  dared  not  even  turn  my  head  in  an  endeavour  to  see  what  she  was  doing. 

Presently  I  heard  a  '  chak  '  from  somewhere  behind  me,  then  it  sounded 
from  my  left,  then  my  right,  and  again  from  above.  Could  it  be  that  the 
woodpeckers  were  suspicious  of  the  '  hide  '  ?  For  now  both  of  them  were 
'  chakking  '  energetically. 

As  time  went  on  my  anxiety  increased.  The  Woodpeckers  continued  to 
fly  from  tree  to  tree  uttering  their  alarm  note,  which  was  repeated  at  intervals 
of  about  twenty  seconds.  Something  was  evidently  amiss,  and  at  last  the 
disquieting  conviction  was  forced  upon  me  that  these  keen-eyed  birds  actually 
did  know  that  I  was  in  hiding  in  the  heap  of  bracken.  Should  I  change  my 
hiding-place,  or  give  them  another  ten  minutes  ? 

It  was  one  of  the  woodpeckers  which  settled  the  problem  for  me,  for  it 
settled  on  the  ground  less  than  two  yards  from  my  head,  peered  in  at  me  as 
though  to  satisfy  itself  that  I  really  was  there,  and  then  with  an  ear-splitting 
'  chak-a-a-a-a-a,'  was  off  like  a  rifle  bullet. 

Without  doubt  a  fresh  hiding-place  must  be  made — and  that  without  delay. 
So,  somewhat  ignominiously,  I  crawled  forth,  and  to  the  accompaniment  of  the 
excited  chattering  of  the  woodpeckers,  looked  about  me  for  the  best  position. 

The  building  of  this  new  hiding-place  really  consisted  of  transporting 
the  branches  and  bracken  of  which  the  first  was  constructed  to  another,  and 
perhaps  less  obvious,  situation.  And  having  completed  it,  and  satisfactorily 
arranged  the  string  from  the  camera,  the  question  arose  as  to  how  I  was  to 
retire  without  being  seen  by  my  watchful  subjects. 

From  my  new  position  I  could  clearly  see  the  Woodpecker's  hole,  from 
which  occasionally  a  youngster's  head  peered  out,  bending  this  way  and  that, 
and  chipping  inquiringly.  Doubtless  it  resented  such  unusual  delay  in  the 
delivery  of  rations. 

This,  however,  was  not  what  I  wanted.  Somehow  or  other  a  scheme 
must  be  devised  which  would  trick  the  Woodpeckers  into  thinking  that  I 
had  gone  awp.y,  or  vanished  into  the  earth.  For  a  while  I  gazed  around 
blankly,  half  inclined  to  walk  noisily  away  for  100  yards  or  so,  and  then  return 
on  hands  and  knees  to  my  shelter.  Then  I  thought  of  the  dead  stem  of  a 
fir  tree  some  twenty  feet  away.  Perhaps  if  I  set  it  swaying  in  a  sufficiently 
alarming  fashion,  it  might  tend  to  distract  the  bird's  attention  from  myself. 
At  least  it  was  worth  trying ;  for  the  only  other  alternative  was  to  go  in  search 
of  my  companions— and  they  might  well  be,  by  this  time,  a  couple  of  miles 

away. 

So  I  walked  up  to  the  dead  fir  stem,  and  found  that,  happily,  it  was  ir 
a  somewhat  precarious  state— so  much  so  that  a  series  of  mighty  pushes  soon 
set  it  swaying  in  the  most  apprehensive  manner.  Then  as  quickly  as  possible, 
I  stole  back  to  my  hiding-place,  and  whilst  the  dead  tree  gradually  ceased 
its  rocking,  awaited  events. 


56  WILD   LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

As  it  turned  out— though  whether  or  no  results  were  due  to  the  tree-swaying 
idea  it  is  impossible  to  say— the  woodpeckers  did  overlook  my  presence  ;  for 
soon  their  excited  alarm  cries  changed  from  the  angry  '  chak '  to  a  lower  and 
more  liquid  '.quip,'  much  like  that  of  a  sparrow-hawk  when  she  calls  in  a  subdued 
way  to  her  young  ;  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes,  I  saw  one  of  them  settle  on 
a  branch  of  the  home  tree,  and  hesitate  for  a  while  as  though  half  expecting 
that  something  fearful  would  occur. 

Needless  to  say,  I  was  much  relieved  that  things  had  taken  such  a  turn 
for  the  better,  but  perhaps  was  even  more  deeply  concerned  with  the  manner 
in  which  she  took  perch.  For  I  had  never  before  seen  a  woodpecker  sitting  thus 
— crosswise  on  the  branch  like  an  ordinary  perching  bird — and  had  believed 
that  their  invariable  habit  was  to  cling  to  the  side  of  the  tree,  or  branch — as 
indeed  is  the  usual  fashion  with  woodpeckers. 

Presently  she  hopped  to  the  trunk,  at  a  point  some  four  or  five  feet  below 
the  nesting-hole,  and  supported  by  her  stiff  tail  feathers,  commenced  to  climb 
upwards  in  a  series  of  spasmodic  jerks  towards  the  protruding  head  that  was 
chittering  so  anxiously  above  her. 

The  process  of  transferring  food  from  her  own  beak  to  that  of  the  young 
seemed  to  be  particularly  energetic  and  rapid — a  series  of  incredibly  swift 
jabs — of  which  the  youngsters  must  have  been  quick  to  avail  themselves.  When 
this  particular  member  of  the  family  was  temporarily  satisfied,  he  silently 
withdrew  into  the  depths  of  his  home,  and  so  made  room  for  another,  which 
lost  no  time  in  protruding  an  expectant  head — all  eagerness  for  the  next  con- 
signment of  food. 

During  that  morning  no  less  than  six  photographs  of  the  Woodpecker 
at  the  nest  were  secured  ;  so  that  a  considerable  number  of  journeys  up  and 
down  the  tree,  that  the  camera  might  be  re-arranged,  had  to  be  undertaken. 

Such  constant  friction  had  succeeded  in  wearing  off  the  loose  bark,  and 
the  trunk  of  the  tree  had  become  exceedingly  slippery.  My  difficulties  were 
added  to  by  the  fact  that  for  some  distance  there  were  no  branches  to  help 
me,  and  the  last  climb  found  me  almost  despairing  of  being  able  to  reach  the 
camera  at  all ! 

Three  days  later  I  again  visited  the  wood,  and  making  my  way  through 
the  dense  bracken  towards  the  woodpecker  tree,  listened  anxiously  in  the 
hope  of  hearing  the  young  ones.  I  found,  however,  on  reaching  the  tree,  that 
they  had  all  flown,  and  since  it  seemed  hopeless  to  expect  to  see  any  more  of 
the  family,  I  decided  to  give  up  the  idea  of  trying  for  further  records.  I  was 
accordingly  preparing  to  leave  the  place  when  I  was  startled  by  an  unmistakable 
4  chip  '  which  seemed  to  come  from  a  tree  some  30  yards  away.  Walking 
stealthily  towards  the  point  from  which  I  judged  that  the  sound  issued,  I 
saw  one  of  the  young  woodpeckers  fly  quietly  from  the  trunk  of  one  tree  to 
the  next,  and  disappear  behind  it ! 


THE  GREATER  SPOTTED 
WOODPECKER 


ON  TIIK  WIXG 


THE  GREATER  SPOTTED  WOODPECKER      57 

Advancing  as  quietly  as  possible,  so  as  to  avoid  frightening  him,  I  reached 
the  tree,  circled  slowly  round  it  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  its  trunk,  and  saw< — 
nothing  !  I  knew  that  he  had  not  left  the  tree,  and  yet  I  could  not,  for  a 
time,  make  him  out.  At  last,  however,  I  spied  him,  although  his  black  and 
white  plumage,  sitting  as  he  was  in  a  patch  of  bright  sunlight,  harmonized  so 
well  with  the  high  lights  and  dark  shadows  of  the  rough  bark  to  which  he  was 
clinging,  as  to  make  him  wellnigh  invisible. 

He  seemed  to  realize  that  I  had  seen  him,  for  he  presently  flew  to  the 
trunk  of  the  next  tree,  and  disappeared  behind  it  as  before.  He  was,  as  yet, 
however,  unable  to  fly  strongly,  and  I  think  I  could  have  caught  him,  although 
he  dodged  around  the  tree  trunks  in  the  most  disconcerting  way. 

The  young  of  this  particular  species  of  Woodpecker  differ  in  one  marked 
respect  from  the  mature  birds,  in  that  the  entire  crown  of  the  head  is  of  a 
rich  scarlet  colour.  In  the  case  of  the  adult  female  this  colour  is  entirely 
absent,  the  crown  of  the  head  being  black.  The  male  has  also  a  black  crown 
to  his  head,  with  a  small  scarlet  patch  at  the  back. 

The  food  of  the  Greater  Spotted  Woodpecker  consists  mainlyi — at  the  time  of 
the  year  when  they  are  available — of  various  insects  and  their  larvae;  although 
during  the  autumn  and  winter  months  they  seem  to  subsist  chiefly  upon  berries, 
hazel-nuts,  and  beech-mast. 

I  recently  had  an  opportunity  of  watching  at  close  quarters  the  Greater 
Spotted  Woodpecker's  method  of  splitting  open  and  eating  hazel-nuts,  an 
operation  that  I  had  not  seen  before,  and  which  struck  me  as  being  unusually 
interesting. 

It  was  during  the  early  part  of  September,  as  I  was  walking  through  an 
ancient  and  long  disused  quarry,  that  my  attention  was  suddenly  arrested  by 
a  sharp  tapping  sound  which  seemed  to  issue  from  somewhere  ahead  of  me. 
At  once  I  stood  still,  hoping  to  discover  the  cause  of  it— half  imagining  that 
it  would  prove  to  be  a  Great  Tit,  or  a  Nuthatch.  Since  the  tapping  continued, 
I  slowly  advanced,  but  still  could  see  nothing  to  account  for  it,  although  I 
was  now  certain  that  the  sound  originated  in  an  old  and  rather  decayed  sallow 
tree,  of  which  I  was  within  about  12  yards. 

The  sound  had  now  ceased,  and  I  was  wondering  what  my  next  move 
should  be,  when  to  my  surprise  a  Greater  Spotted  Woodpecker  unconcernedly 
flew  from  the  sallow,  and  disappeared  over  the  bushes  close  by.  Investigation 
showed  that  the  foot  of  the  sallow  was  littered  with  the  shells  of  hazelnuts 
and  their  green  husks. 

In  each  case  larger  or  smaller  pieces  had  been  split  from  the  side  of  the 
nutshell  towards  the  smaller  end,  and  the  inside  of  the  nut  pretty  carefully 
removed,  although  in  some  cases  a  little  of  the  nut,  dented  by  the  beak  of 
the  woodpecker,  still  remained  in  position. 

Without  further  delay  I  concealed  myself  in  the  undergrowth  in  the  hope 


58  WILD   LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

that  the  bird  would  return  again.  Hardly  had  I  done  so  than  she  made  her 
appearance  with  a  hazel-nut,  to  which  the  green  husk  was  still  attached,  held 
in  her  beak.  Settling  without  hesitation,  she  hopped  up  the  inclined  trunk 
of  the  tree,  and  placing  the  nut  in  a  little  cavity  on  the  upper  side  of  one  of 
the  branches,  she  proceeded  by  sharp  blows  of  her  beak  to  split  it  open. 

This  she  soon  succeeded  in  doing,  and  having  thus  made  preparation, 
commenced  to  remove  the  contents  by  rapid  and  extremely  vigorous  digs 
of  her  beak — incidentally  wasting  a  considerable  amount  in  the  process.  When 
she  had  emptied  the  shell,  she  threw  it  overboard  with  a  sideways  jerk  of  her 
head,  and  once  more  flew  off,  to  settle  this  time  in  a  hazel  bush  some  30  yards 

away. 

Here  a  hunt  for  another  nut  took  place.  A  hunt  which  involved  some 
curious  contortions  ;  for  she  hung  upside  down  from  the  extreme  tips  of  the 
leafy  twigs,  and  having  found  a  nut,  she  set  to  work  to  twist  it  from  its  cluster 
with  the  most  energetic  movements  of  her  head  and  neck,  and  a  considerable 
amount  of  fluttering.  Eventually  she  succeeded  in  wrenching  it  free,  and  at 
once  returned  to  place  it  in  the  little  cavity  in  the  sallow.  She  seemed,  how- 
ever, to  be  dissatisfied  with  the  fit,  and  accordingly  picked  it  out  again  with 
the  tip  of  her  beak,  and  hopped  some  10  inches  further  up  the  stem  of  the 
tree  to  another  groove  which  was  fortunately  in  a  much  better  position  from 
my  point  of  view.  In  fact  I  could  distinctly  see  the  crimson  cap  to  her  head, 
which  proved  she  was  a  bird  of  the  year  ;  the  way  in  which  she  pressed  the 
nut  into  position,  with  its  edge  towards  her  ;  and  the  rearrangement  of  it 
when  it  slipped  sideways  at  the  first  stroke  of  her  bill. 

This  incident  occurred  some  years  ago,  but  I  have  noticed  that  each  year 
at  about  the  beginning  of  September,  this  woodpecker,  or  another,  returns 
to  the  same  sallow  for  the  purpose  of  feasting  upon  the  hazels. 

These  woodpeckers  deal  with  oak-galls  in  the  same  way,  placing  them  in 
a  crevice  of  the  rough  bark  of  some  tree,  or  in  some  suitable  cavity,  and  splitting 
them  open,  so  that  the  larvae  within  are  exposed. 

It  is  not  very  generally  known,  perhaps,  that  the  Greater  Spotted  Wood- 
pecker is  partial  to  apple  pips,  although  this  fact  is  not  surprising  when  it  is 
considered  that  they  are  known  to  feed  largely,  on  the  continent  at  least, 
upon  the  seeds  contained  in  fir  cones. 

Personally  I  have  only  once  seen  one  of  them  at  all  interested  in  apples, 
and  on  that  occasion  the  bird  was  flying  from  an  orchard  with  a  rather  small 
apple— rather  suggesting  what,  in  America,  is  called  a  'toffee  apple'— 
impaled  on  the  tip  of  its  beak. 

Although  this  woodpecker  is  provided  with  an  extendible  tongue,  it 
seems  not  to  make  so  much  use  of  it  as  does  the  Green  Woodpecker,  which 
latter  bird  finds  such  a  contrivance  of  the  greatest  possible  use  in  extracting 
ants  from  their  underground  quarters. 


THE   GREATER   SPOTTED   WOODPECKER  59 

The  Greater  Spotted  Woodpecker  may  be,  if  handled  in  the  same  manner 
as  a  hawk,  comparatively  easily  tamed,  and  in  fact  may  grow  so  attached 
to  its  owner  that  it  dislikes  leaving  his  side. 

I  have  had  one  of  them  which,  if  held  in  the  hand  and  tossed  high  into 
the  air,  would  plane  down  with  the  most  perfect  ease  to  settle  again  upon 
my  coat  sleeve. 

If  at  all  hungry  this  woodpecker  would  continually  utter  its  sharp  cry, 
and  developed  an  unhappy  knack  of  demanding  food  by  rapping  painfully 
against  one's  hand  or  neck  with  its  beak. 

Since  it  was  allowed  entire  freedom,  and  soon  learned  to  fend  for  itself, 
it  ultimately  reverted  to  the  wild  state.  It  would  indeed  be  interesting  to  know 
whether  it  travelled  far  afield,  or  whether  it  nested  in  the  neighbourhood  of  its 
former  human  friends. 


CHAPTER  VI 

The    Swiftest    of   British   Hawks 

FOR  many  years  I  hoped  that  one  day  I  should  discover  the  nest  of  a 
Hobby — so  that  I  might  watch  in  the  live  free  state  the  habits  and 
manner  of  flying  of  this  delightful  little  Falcon— but,  in  spite  of 
protracted  inquiries  and  diligent  searchings,  it  was  not  until  quite  recently 
that  this  ambition  was  fulfilled. 

I  had,  of  course,  in  my  youthful  days  passed  through  the  phase  of  dis- 
covering in  Kent  the  nests  of  such  birds  as  Nutcrackers,  Twites,  Snowy  Owls, 
and  so  forth,  and  on  one  occasion  firmly  believed  that  I  had  discovered  that 
of  a  pair  of  Hobbies. 

I  was  walking  with  a  gamekeeper  one  cloudless  April  morning  when  I 
chanced  to  see  a  hawk  perched  on  the  very  tip-top  twig  of  a  tall,  dead  ash  tree. 
For  a  while  we  stood  and  watched  it,  but  we  were  really  too  far  away  to 
form  any  idea  as  to  the  colour  of  its  plumage,  and  consequently  decided  to 
approach  to  closer  quarters. 

As  we  crossed  an  open  space  the  hawk,  catching  sight  of  us,  spread  its 
wings  and  tail,  and  soared  into  the  air.  *  What  long  wings  it  has  ! '  I  remarked 
excitedly  to  my  friend.  '  And  how  blue  it  is  !  Whatever  kind  of  hawk  can  it 
be  ?  '  He  said  he  thought  it  must  be  a  blue  French  hawk,  and  that  he  knew 
there  were  some  about  as  he  had  shot  one,  and  had  it  stuffed  in  a  case,nt  home. 

Needless  to  say,  my  excitement  was  now  approaching  the  state  of  feverish- 
ness,  and  I  begged  that  we  should  go  forward  and  see  if  there  was  a  nest.  My 
companion  remembered  that  there  was  an  old  magpie's  nest  at  about  the  point 
from  which  the  hawk  flew,  and  we  accordingly  set  out  on  a  tour  of  investigation. 

Surely  enough,  there  was  the  magpie's  nest,  from  which,  as  we  drew  near,  a 
second  hawk  flew. 

My  joy  knew  no  bounds,  and  although  the  nest  was  at  the  top  of  a  very 
high  oak,  I  managed  to  climb  up  to  it,  and  found  that  it  contained  three  eggs 
— very  richly  marked  with  dark  red  and  purple  blotches. 

Certainly  these  were  the  finest  eggs  I  had  ever  seen,  and  most  surely 
belonged  to  some  very  rare  bird.  Incidentally,  they  were  the  first  hawk's  eggs 
of  any  kind  I  had  ever  discovered  ! 

On  my  return  home  I  consulted  all  of  the  bird  books  in  my  possession,  and 
studied  the  coloured  plates  of  birds'  eggs  in  order  to  try  and  identify  what  I 

61 


62  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

had  found,  and  at  last  came  to  the  definite  conclusion  that  they  were  Hobby's 
eggs.  The  question  of  the  possibility  of  their  being  Kestrel's  eggs  was  raised, 
I  believe,  but  the  idea  was  laid  on  one  side  as  being  absurd. 

In  the  first  place  there  were  only  three  eggs,  and  Kestrels  usually  lay  five 
to  six.  Then  they  were  laid  in  an  old  magpie's  nest ;  and  Hobbies,  I  learnt, 
love  to  take  over  such  a  home  ;  also  the  first  of  the  two  birds  which  I  had  seen 
was  distinctly  blue — and  the  stuffed  Kestrel  in  the  second-hand  bookshop 
was  a  reddish  colour,  much  dotted  with  black  spots  and  bars.  And  lastly, 
had  I  not  remarked  on  the  length  of  the  hawk's  wings  ?  And  I  learnt  that  the 
Hobby  is  the  longest  winged  of  all  our  hawks. 

What  I  did  not  then  know  is,  that  the  Kestrel  also  sometimes  lays  only 
three  eggs  (and  even  if  she  is  going  to  lay  six — there  must  be  a  time  at  which 
the  nest  only  contains  three  !) ;  that  the  Kestrel  also  frequently  appropriates 
a  disused  magpie's  nest  ;  that  the  mature  male  Kestrel  is  of  an  entirely  different 
colour  from  the  female,  and  has  a  slaty-blue  tail ;  and  that  the  length  of  the 
Hobby's  wings  is  much  greater  than  those  of  the  hawk  I  had  seen  leave  the 
dead  tree-top.  In  addition  I  now  know  that  the  Hobby  is  a  migratory  bird, 
and  so  late  a  nester  that  one  cannot  expect  to  find  its  eggs  before  the  middle 
of  June. 

The  Hobby  is,  in  fact,  a  very  rare  bird,  although,  like  the  Buzzard  and 
the  Merlin,  it  returns  annually  to  its  breeding-places,  which  are,  in  the  instances 
with  which  I  am  acquainted,  in  isolated  clumps  of  trees  in  extremely  open 
country. 

There  is  no  mistaking  a  Hobby  by  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  various 
small  British  hawks,  even  if  it  be  flying  at  a  great  height ;  for  the  extraordinary 
length  of  its  wings  lends  to  it  something  of  the  appearance  of  a  swift.  When 
it  is  at  rest,  it  is  an  even  easier  matter  to  identify  it — for  once  more  the  length 
of  its  wings  strikes  one  immediately — they  really  seem  almost  out  of  propor- 
tion !— whilst  the  black  crown  of  the  head,  the  pure  white  cheeks,  the  greyish 
black  of  the  back,  and  the  almost  orange  patch  on  the  thighs,  distinguish  it  at 
once  from  any  other  British  hawk.  We  are  told  that,  in  the  days  when  Fal- 
conry was  so  popular  a  sport,  Hobbies  were  very  highly  esteemed  as  birds  of 
great  wing  power,  courage,  and  tractability,  and  that  they  were  trained  to 
take  such  large  fowl  as  pigeons  and  partridges  ;  but  in  these  modern  times, 
perhaps  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  art  of  training  them  is  a  lost  one,  none  of 
the  modern  Falconers  seem  to  have  been  able  to  do  the  least  good  with  them. 
[t  is  doubtful  in  fact  whether  they  enjoy  a  better  reputation  than  the  poor 
Buzzard  !  In  any  case,  they  are  usually  termed  dull,  spiritless,  cowardly, 
and  so  on.  It  is  possible  that  this  apparent  laziness  on  the  part  of  the  Hobby 
is  due  to  the  fact  that  in  the  wild  state  it  consumes,  like  the  Kestrel,  a  quantity 
of  winged  insects,  May  bugs,  dragon-flies,  and  the  like  ;  and  the  fact  that  it 
spends  a  considerable  part  of  its  time  soaring  at  vast  heights,  from  which 


THE   SWIFTEST   OF  BRITISH  HAWKS  63 

point  of  vantage  it  would  have  little  difficulty  in  overtaking  the  very  swiftest 
of  our  smaller  birds.  In  fact  I  am  told  by  a  famous  modern  Falconer  that  in 
Hungary,  where  Hobbies  are  common,  he  has  quite  frequently  seen  them  take 
swallows  in  the  air.  A  feat  that  none  other  of  our  British  hawks  would  ever 
try  to  accomplish. 

It  is  my  intention  to  set  down  in  the  following  pages  my  perhaps  extra- 
ordinary experiences  with  a  pair  of  Hobbies  and  their  nest,  in  the  hope  that 
the  opinion  of  the  reader  regarding  these  birds  will  be  a  happier  one  than  if  it 
were  based  on  the  books  on  Falconry. 

It  was  not  until  the  year  1920  that  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  Hobby's 
nest,  and  when  I  first  gazed  up  at  it  from  the  earth  below,  I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  to  secure  photographs  of  it  would  be  impossible  ;  for  the  Hobby 
had  selected  a  disused  crow's  nest  at  the  top  of  a  pine  tree,  which  was  so  high 
that  it  stood  out  conspicuously  from  among  the  other  trees  close  at  hand. 

However,  I  decided  to  try  to  reach  the  nest  and  to  find  out  what  it  con- 
tained, for  it  would  be  useless  to  think  of  arranging  for  photography  if,  for 
instance,  the  hawk  had  not  finished  laying. 

The  task  of  climbing  the  tree,  however,  was  by  no  means  an  easy  one, 
for  the  trunk  of  it  was  smooth  and  straight  for  thirty  feet,  and  to  add  to  the 
difficulties,  a  steady  misty  rain  was  falling,  which  made  the  tree  slippery,  and 
the  progress  consequently  most  wearingly  slow.  Still  at  length  the  lowest 
branch  was  reached,  and  after  a  brief  rest  the  ascent  continued.  I  found 
that  the  nest  contained  three  eggs,  which  were  by  all  appearances  fairly  hard 
set :  and  noting  that  the  female  Hobby,  which  was  flying  round  screaming, 
seemed  anxious  to  return,  I  slid  down  to  earth  with  all  speed,  and  left  the  place 
without  further  delay. 

Whilst  at  the  nest,  however,  I  had  decided  that  the  only  possible  position 
from  which  photographs  of  the  nest  and  its  inmates  could  be  obtained  was 
the  top  of  a  straggling  beech,  whose  branches,  I  had  noted,  were  swaying 
obediently  to  each  passing  gust  of  wind. 

But  having  waited  so  long,  the  opportunity  of  securing  photographs  of  a 
Hobby's  nest  could  not  be  treated  too  lightly,  and  the  beech— if  things  were 
well — would  necessarily  be  utilized. 

Some  week  later,  therefore,— on  the  sixteenth  of  July  to  be  precise— I  again 
visited  the  place,  and  found  that  the  eggs  had  hatched,  and  that  there  were  three 
charming  little  Hobbies  in  the  nest.  As  quickly  and  quietly  as  possible  ] 
descended  to  earth,  and  having  gathered  together  my  impedimenta  commenced 
to  climb  the  beech  tree.  I  had  brought  with  me  a  length  of  rope  with  which 
to  lash  together  some  of  the  beech  boughs,  as  I  felt  sure  that  one  of  them  aloi 
would  not  be  sufficiently  rigid  to  support  the  camera— certainly  not  to  bear 
my  own  weight. 

To  make  matters  worse,  a  gale  was  blowing,  and  when  I  had  got  as  high 


64  WILD   LIFE  IN  THE  TREE  TOPS 

as  I  dared,  I  found  that  it  was  impossible  to  do  anything— for  the  branches 
were  swaying  and  bending  in  the  most  alarming  manner.  The  fact  of  roping 
together  as  tightly  as  possible  three  of  the  upright  beech  branches  had  the 
effect  of  steadying  them  somewhat,  and  as  I  fixed  into  position  a  '  dummy ' 
camera,  I  devoutly  hoped  that  the  weather  conditions  might  improve  by 
the  time  photography  should  be  attempted.  Whilst  fixing  this  imitation 
camera,  I  saw  the  female  Hobby  dash  out  from  the  trees,  and  give  chase  to 
one  of  the  Peregrines  which  were  flying  at  hack,1  and  which  seemed  quite  scared 
at  her  screaming  and  at  her  powerful  stoops. 

The  tinkling  of  a  Peregrine's  bell  would  be  a  certain  signal  for  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Hobby,  who  never  allows  one  of  them  to  come  within  less 
than  about  eighty  yards  of  her  nest. 

Unhappily  the  weather  conditions  did  not  improve,  so  I  had  to  prepare 
to  make  the  best  of  things,  and  on  July  22nd,  tried  for  some  photographs. 
The  weather,  however,  was  every  bit  as  bad  as  it  had  been  during  the  previous 
visit,  and  the  light  was,  if  anything,  worse. 

Before  climbing  the  beech  to  fix  the  camera,  I  clapped  my  hands  with 
the  idea  of  sending  the  Hobby  away,  so  that  she  should  not  see  me  climb  the 
tree ;  and  became  somewhat  anxious  when  she  did  not  go  off.  However,  when 
half-way  up  to  the  camera  position,  I  was  much  relieved  to  see  her  swing 
away  from  the  nest  and  settle  on  a  dead  branch  some  ninety  yards  off,  whence 
she  could  watch  my  movements.  From  the  camera  position  I  could  look 
across  on  to  the  nest  and  could  see  the  young  Hobbies — little  balls  of  down — 
watching  me  with  their  dark  eyes.  Owing  to  the  high  wind  that  was  whistling 
over  the  hill  and  through  the  branches,  an  unusually  long  time  was  taken  in 
fixing  the  camera,  and  when  it  was  in  position  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in 
focussing  on  the  nest ;  the  camera  and  myself  swaying  from  side  to  side,  and 
backwards  and  forwards,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  it  almost  impossible  to 
persuade  the  nest  to  remain  in  the  picture  at  all. 

But  at  last  things  seemed  satisfactorily  arranged,  and  I  had  just  made  the 
final  adjustments  when,  glancing  at  the  Hobby's  nest,  I  saw,  to  my  amazement, 
that  the  female  Hobby  had  returned  to  her  young  and  was  at  the  moment 
shuffling  herself  over  them,  just  as  a  chicken  snuffles  herself  over  her  eggs — and 
all  the  while  looking  directly  at  me ! 

Needless  to  say,  I  exposed  one  of  the  two  plates  that  I  had  with  me.  I 
thought  that  perhaps  she  had  not  noticed  me,  and  that  at  any  moment  she 
might  dash  screaming  off  the  nest.  Nevertheless  I  reset  the  shutter,  changed 
my  dark-slides,  and  exposed  another  plate. 

Now  I  was  placed  in  a  quandary,  for  I  hardly  dared  to  risk  frightening 
the  hawk  by  climbing  down  the  tree— but  I  had  no  more  plates  with  me. 

*  Young  Peregrines  before  being  reclaimed  and  trained  are  'flown  at  hack'  (or  allowed 
absolute  freedom)  for  some  five  or  six  weeks. 


STUDIES  OF  THE 
YOUNG    HOBBIES 


THE   SWIFTEST   OF  BRITISH  HAWKS  65 

And  meanwhile  the  Hobby  continued  to  brood  her  young  ! 

So  at  length  I  decided  to  run  the  risk  of  frightening  her  by  descending 
for  a  fresh  supply  of  plates.  As  I  began  the  journey  the  Hobby  flew  from  the 
nest,  and  returning  to  her  perch  on  the  dead  branch  commenced  to  scream  at 
intervals. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  kept  up  this  intermittent  screaming  for  almost 
twenty  minutes,  and  hoping  to  reassure  her,  I  walked  out  into  the  open  as 
though  I  were  going  away.  Her  screaming  then  ceased,  and  I  decided  after  a 
wait  of  half  an  hour  to  climb  up  to  the  camera,  and  to  put  another  dark-slide 
in  position  for  a  third  exposure.  When  I  was  high  enough  in  the  beech  to  see 
across  to  the  nest  I  saw  that  the  Hobby  was  covering  the  young  again,  and 
was  still  peering  in  my  direction. 

Now  I  had  noticed  that  when  I  walked  away  into  the  open  she  had  con- 
tinued to  sit  on  her  dead  branch  perch  until  I  stopped,  and  turned  to  look  at 
her,  when  she  immediately  flew  off;  and  the  idea  of  covering  up  my  face — 
which  was  seemingly  so  repellent  to  her — suddenly  occurred  to  me. 

I  consequently  snapped  off  some  beech  boughs,  and  sticking  some  of  them 
in  the  band  of  the  disreputable  felt  hat  that  I  was  wearing,  and  allowing  others 
to  hang  down  from  under  it  over  my  face,  I  continued  my  journey  to  the  camera. 

This  ruse  of  course,  seems  at  first  to  be  exceedingly  ridiculous,  but  we 
have  heard  of  camouflage  effects  having  been  employed  successfully  on  other 
and  more  serious  occasions,  and  it  might,  at  least,  lessen  the  chances  of  the 
Hobby  being  unduly  terrified. 

In  any  case,  the  plan  was  completely  successful,  the  only  sort  of  protest 
which  the  little  hawk  offered  being  a  little  feeble  screaming.  Having  exposed 
my  two  plates — without  causing  the  Hobby  the  least  anxiety — I  realized  that 
I  had  stupidly  left  the  last  remaining  dark-slide  down  below  ! 

Once  more  I  crept  down  the  tree,  this  time  without  disturbing  the  Hobby, 
got  my  dark-slide  and  returned  to  the  camera — to  find  her  still  on  the  nest ! 
So  once  again  I  got  everything  in  readiness  for  an  exposure,  and  clinging  on 
in  a  most  uncomfortable  position,  and  swaying  this  way  and  that,  I  waited  for 
my  little  friend  to  do  something  interesting. 

After  a  wait  of  some  twenty  minutes,  I  heard  the  male  uttering  a  protracted 
call,  very  like  that  which  a  Kestrel  makes  when  he  brings  food  for  the  female. 
She  answered  him  at  once,  and,  leaving  the  nest,  flew  to  him  as  he  sat  on  a 
branch  with  a  small  bird  in  his  talons. 

This  she  took  from  him,  and  returning  with  it  to  the  nest  commenced  to 
tear  off  small  pieces,  which  she  distributed  amongst  her  little  family.  When 
it  was  all  finished  she  cleaned  her  beak  on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  and  then  shuffled 
forward  as  though  to  brood  the  young  ones.  I  noticed,  however,  that  two  of 
them  continued  to  peck  at  her  beak  in  a  persistent  way  as  though  not  satisfied 
with  the  amount  of  food  they  had  received.  The  old  Hobby  seemed  to  under- 


66  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

stand  what  was  required,  for  she  began  to  move  her  head  and  neck  as  though 
she  were  about  to  eject  a  casting.  Presently  she  disgorged  a  piece  of  meat 
from  her  crop,  and  holding  it  in  her  beak,  allowed  the  young  ones  to  peck  tiny 
pieces  from  it.  When  they  were  at  last  satisfied,  she  stepped  from  the  edge 
of  the  nest  where  she  had  been  standing,  into  the  centre,  and  crouching  down, 
induced  the  young  ones  by  '  hooking '  them  towards  her  with  her  head  and 
neck,  to  take  shelter  under  her  breast  feathers. 

Whilst  she  was  brooding  them  her  beautiful  wings,  which  reached  to  some 
distance  beyond  the  tip  of  her  tail,  were  almost  half-open,  with  the  primaries 
(or  long  flight  feathers)  pointing  slightly  upwards. 

Having  exposed  all  my  plates,  I  climbed  down  the  tree  without  disturbing 
her,  cycled  back  to  the  village  where  a  fresh  supply  of  plates  was  awaiting  me, 
refilled  my  dark-slides,  cycled  back  to  the  wood,  and  actually  climbed  up  to 
the  camera  without  causing  the  Hobby  to  leave  her  family.  She  was  facing 
me  as  I  climbed  the  tree,  and  I  could  see  her  bright  eyes,  white  cheeks,  and 
black  moustaches  distinctly.  And  still  she  remained  brooding;  in  fact  she 
seemed  now  to  be  so  accustomed  to  my  presence  as  to  be  quite  unconcerned 
about  me. 

It  occurred  to  me,  as  I  waited  by  the  camera  and  watched  the  little  hawk, 
that  it  would  make  an  unusual  photograph  if  I  could  '  snap  her  in  mid-air,' 
and  so,  opening  the  lens  to  its  fullest  aperture,  and  setting  the  focal-plane 
shutter  at  one-thousandth  of  a  second,  I  held  the  release  in  my  right  hand, 
and  endeavoured  by  waving  my  hat  in  my  left  to  induce  the  Hobby  to  take 
to  the  air. 

She  took  not  the  slightest  notice  ! 

I  then  tried  shouting — in  addition  to  the  hat  waving.  Still  no  notice  ! 
Finally  I  broke  off  a  beech  bough,  and  shouting  all  the  while,  slashed  about 
with  it  at  any  beech  branches  near  by. 

The  only  result  of  this  effort  was  that  the  Hobby  calmly  watched  the 
earthwards  drifting  of  the  leaves  which  I  had  broken  off ! 

Since  she  evidently  did  not  care  to  leave  her  charges — and  as  she  seemed 
to  treat  my  antics  with  a  superior  contempt — I  desisted  ;  and  full  of  admiration 
for  such  a  splendid  little  creature,  took  yet  another  photo  of  her  brooding  her 
young.  At  this  moment — and  it  is  strange  how  such  things  occur — the  call 
of  the  male  sounded  from  the  trees  on  my  right.  Whereupon  she  immediately 
left  the  nest,  and,  silhouetted  against  the  sky  as  she  planed  down  to  meet 
him,  made  the  very  effect  I  had  been  hoping  for  ! 

I  had  not  reset  the  shutter  ! 

But  at  least  I  had  this  time  a  most  perfect  view  of  the  little  male  ;  for 
he  sat  on  a  bare  branch  some  20  feet  from  me,  with  a  small  bird  that  he  had 
already  plucked  in  his  talons.  He  really  is  the  most  perfect  little  thing.  His 
head  seems  to  be  jet  black,  with  of  course  the  white  cheeks  and  sides,  his  breast 


THE  SWIFTEST  OF  BRITISH  HAWKS  67 

pure  white  splashed  with  longitudinal  black  markings,  and  his  legs  and  the 
feathers  of  the  thighs  quite  a  bright  red. 

I  could  not  make  out  what  kind  of  bird  he  was  holding,  for  since  it  was 
devoid  of  feathers,  it  was  not  easy  to  judge,  but  I  should  think  that  it  was  a 
warbler  of  some  kind — certainly  it  was  not  a  lark. 

Soon  the  female  fluttered  to  his  side,  and  taking  the  bird  from  his  talons 
with  hers,  returned  to  the  nest  and  fed  the  young  ones  as  before.  After  the 
meal  was  finished,  and  this  time  the  family  seemed  satisfied,  she  lay  on  her 
side  in  the  nest  and  puffed  out  her  feathers  very  much  as  a  chicken  does  when 
it  dusts  itself,  and  then  collecting  the  young  ones  under  her,  she  once  more 
brooded  them. 

During  the  first  week  in  August  I  climbed  to  the  nest  with  the  idea  of 
inspecting  the  young  Hobbies  at  close  quarters,  and  went  through  a  really 
remarkable — and  quite  unexpected — experience  whilst  doing  so. 

The  female  Hobby,  as  I  commenced  to  ascend  the  tree,  took  perch  upon 
her  favourite  dead  branch,  and  as  I  had  expected,  began  to  scream  heartily. 

When  my  head  was  almost  on  a  level  with  the  nest,  I  looked  across  at  her, 
silhouetted  against  the  sky,  and  was  quite  surprised  when  she  did  not  go 
off. 

My  surprise  increased  to  amazement  when  I  saw  her  start,  with  the  definite 
action  of  a  hawk  flying  some  quarry,  straight  towards  me  ! 

For  a  few  seconds  I  really  thought  she  was  going  to  '  bind  to  '  my  face  ! 
But  as  she  reached  me  she  suddenly  shot  up  with  a  '  fwt '  of  wings  into  the  air 
straight  overhead — leaving  as  a  souvenir,  three  bleeding  scratches  across  my 
forehead. 

My  companions  down  below  gazed  in  astonishment  as  they  saw  her  turn 
over  and  stoop  again,  only  missing  my  head  by  a  fraction  of  an  inch  as  I  ducked 
to  avoid  her — and  again  and  again  she  threw  up,  turned,  and  came  rushing  by, 
sometimes  hitting  the  mark,  sometimes  just  missing  me. 

Once  I  held  up  my  hand,  which  she  hit  with  a  resounding  '  smack ' — and 
for  a  moment  I  feared  that  I  had  done  her  some  harm  !  But  in  a  few  moments 
she  had  regained  her  pitch  and  was  pressing  the  attack  in  the  most  energetic 
manner. 

What  a  grand  little  Falcon  ! 

On  August  20th  the  young  Hobbies  had  left  the  nest,  and  were  soaring 
at  a  vast  height  over  the  trees.  I  climbed  up  to  the  nest  with  the  idea  of  dis- 
covering what  creatures  they  were  in  the  habit  of  taking.  Amongst  the  debris 
in  the  nest  were  the  wings  of  a  May-bug,  several  cleanly-picked  wings  of  larks, 
and  the  wing  bones,  with  most  of  the  primaries  still  intact,  of  a  swift — and  not 
the  wings  of  a  young  swift,  but  of  a  mature  bird. 

When  one  watches  a  batch  of  swifts  as  they  flash  screaming  around  the 
houses  in  their  enjoyment  of  the  evening  flight,  one  may  well  deliberate  upon 


68  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

their  extraordinary  wing  power,  and  their  perfect  control.  What  sort  of  a 
flight  then  must  that  be  of  a  Hobby  in  pursuit  of  one  of  them  ? 

And  who  can  say  that  the  Hobby  lacks  courage,  or  is  stupid  ? 

I  last  saw  the  young  Hobbies  on  August  23rd,  and  watched  them  for  some 
time  as  they  soared  in  huge  circles  at  the  usual  elevation.  At  length  one  of 
the  parents — the  female,  I  should  think,  put  in  an  appearance,  and  for  some 
little  time  flew  above  them  screaming.  Soon  I  saw  one  of  the  young  ones 
swing  up  to  her  in  the  air  and  take  something  from  her  talons.  I  have  seen 
young  Peregrines  thus  take  food  from  the  parents,  but  at  nothing  like  the  height 
at  which  the  Hobbies  were  flying. 

Having  secured  the  meal  the  young  Hobby  half  closed  its  wings,  and 
dropped  with  terrific  speed  to  the  home  wood,  and  into  the  home  tree. 

Doubtless  the  young  Hobbies,  like  young  Kestrels  and  Sparrow-hawks, 
continue  to  use  the  nest  as  a  feeding-place  for  some  time  after  they  are  able 
to  fly. 


THE 

LITTLE  OWL 


CHAPTER  VII 

Two    Brown    Owls 

THERE  are  two  species  of  Owls,  which,  in  the  district  with  which  I 
am  most  familiar,  come  in  for  an  overwhelming  share  of  adverse 
criticism  ;    two  Owls  which  have  somehow  earned  the  reputation  of 
living  mainly  upon  creatures  which  man  also  covets  —incidentally,  the  most 
undesirable  reputation  that  any  bird  can  acquire. 

One  of  them  is  the  wise-looking  Tawny,  or  Wood  Owl,  and  the  other  the 
Little  Owl,  and  of  the  two  the  second,  although  hardly  bigger  than  a  thrush, 
has  certainly  the  greater  number  of  human  enemies. 

It  is  not  so  many  years  since  one  looked  upon  a  Little  Owl  as  being  such  a 
rarity  that  notices  of  its  occurrence  were  published  in  various  periodicals  ; 
and  yet  to-day  we  find  it,  in  the  South  of  England  at  least,  by  far  the  common- 
est of  the  owls,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  every  man's  hand— and  gun— is  raised 
against  it. 

The  chief  grudge  against  the  Little  Owl  is  that  it  has  a  taste  for  young 
partridges,  and  is  particularly  apt  at  picking  them  up.  Then  there  are  those 
who  think  its  quaint  cry  a  '  horrible  screeching  noise  '  ;  and  last  of  all  the 
fact  that  it  is  not  a  native  of  this  country,  seems  sometimes  to  be  resented  ; 
and  the  bird  is  looked  upon  as  an  '  undesirable  alien,'  with  no  real  right  to 
live  here  at  all. 

As  for  the  much  more  cumbersome  Tawny  Owl- — its  fault  seems  to  be 
confined  to  its  habit  of  banging  with  its  wings  at  night  against  the  bars  of  the 
coop  within  which  the  young  pheasants  are  sleeping  under  the  protecting 
wings  of  a  hen.  Which  manoeuvre  has  the  effect  of  bringing  out  all  of  the 
young  pheasants  at  the  double,  when  they  are  easily  picked  up  by  the  watch- 
ful Owl — at  least,  this  is  what  I  am  told  ! 

My  own  experiences  lead  me  to  think  that  neither  of  these  owls  interferes 
to  any  extent  with  game  ;  although  I  do  not  for  a  moment  suggest  that  an 
odd  young  pheasant  or  partridge,  which  had  lost  touch  with  the  main  body, 
would  not  be  picked  up.  Doubtless  it  would  be,  as  long  as  it  were  not  too 
strong  for  the  Owl  to  tackle. 

But  in  spite  of  the  uproar  of  protest  against  his  depredations,  the  Little 


70  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

Owl,  at  least,  still  contrives  to  hold  his  own,  and  the  coveys  of  partridges — 
this 'September  of  1921— are  as  large  and  strong  as  I  have  ever  seen  them. 

Even  before  the  war  this  unpopular  little  creature,  having  been  imported 
and  liberated  in  the  hope  that  it  would  become  a  permanent  breeding  species 

was  gradually  becoming  more  and  more  firmly  established,  and  during  those 

unrestful  days  when  the  majority  of  gamekeepers  had  forsaken  the  woods  for 
the  trenches,  and  the  gun  for  the  rifle,  the  species  had  become  so  common 
that  the  former  haunts  of  Barn  Owl,  Kestrel,  and  Stock  Dove,  were  often 
tenanted  by  a  pair  of  these  weird  little  fellows. 

When  on  the  wing  the  Little  Owl  looks  very  much  like  a  missel-thrush  ; 
particularly  as  he  has  the  same  straight  undulating  flight,  and  many  an  oppor- 
tunity to  bowl  him  over  has  been  missed,  for  the  reason  that  he  was  at  first 
mistaken  for  the  other  bird.  He  is,  in  fact,  comparatively  seldom  shot  ; 
neither  is  he  often  trapped,  nor  his  nest  easily  discovered.  Sometimes,  of 
course,  an  odd  bird  is  shot,  or  is  caught,  purely  by  accident,  in  one  of 
the  stoat  or  hedgehog  traps  which  gamekeepers  set  in  little  wooden  tunnels  ; 
on  which  occasions  the  Little  Owl  was  doubtless  on  his  way  through  the 
tunnel  on  the  look-out  for  beetles. 

During  the  evenings  of  March  and  April,  he  becomes  very  restless,  and 
it  is  then  that  one  hears  most  frequently  his  sharp  yelping  cry,  sometimes 
uttered  but  once,  and  at  others  several  times  in  quick  succession. 

But  when  the  eggs  have  been  laid,  he,  like  so  many  others  of  his  kind, 
observes  a  discreet  silence,  and  it  is  not  until  the  young  are  almost  fledged 
that  attention  is  likely  to  be  drawn  to  the  nesting-hole. 

I  have  on  many  occasions  looked  into  a  Little  Owl's  nest,  and  on  to  the 
form  of  the  brooding  female,  without  her  showing  the  least  alarm.  I  have 
even  lifted  her  off  the  eggs  with  my  hand,  and  replaced  her,  without  apparently 
disturbing  her  at  all ;  in  fact  she  has  seemed  to  treat  my  intrusion  with 
a  complacent  unconcern. 

During  the  past  summer  I  discovered  a  Little  Owl's  nest,  which  held  two 
eggs,  quite  low  down  in  an  old  elm  stump ;  about  a  week  later  I  again  looked 
into  the  hole,  and  found  that  there  were  still  only  two  eggs,  though  I  had 
expected  that  there  would  be  five  or  six. 

Wondering  if  the  nest  was  deserted,  I  reached  into  the  hole,  and  found 
that  the  eggs  were  quite  warm — and  marvelled  that  the  Little  Owl  should  have 
been  able  to  leave  the  tree  without  my  seeing  her.  The  following  day  I  again 
inspected  the  nest :  the  Owl  did  not  fly  off,  and  as  before,  the  eggs  were 
warm. 

This  time  I  determined  to  satisfy  myself  that  the  Owl  was  not  hiding  within, 
and  feeling  in  all  the  crevices  and  side-holes  about  the  nest,  ultimately  dis- 
covered her  squeezed  into  a  small  hole  that  ran  upwards  to  another  exit, 
which  was  not  large  enough  to  allow  her  to  pass  out. 


TWO   BROWN   OWLS  71 

It  is  an  instance  which  shows  how  difficult  it  would  be  to  discover  a  Little 
Owl's  nest  by  attempting  to  flush  the  bird. 

When  the  young  Little  Owls  are  hatched — little  fat  creatures  they  are 
with  chubby  feet  and  red-rimmed  eyes — their  parents  work  hard  to  supply 
them  with  food  ;  and,  like  the  Buzzard,  usually  provide  them  with  far  more 
than  they  can  possibly  consume. 

Even  during  the  day  the  work  is  sometimes  continued,  and  then  each 
journey  to  and  from  the  nest  is  attended  by  an  excited  throng  of  chaffinches, 
tits,  missel-thrushes,  blackbirds,  and  so  forth ;  each  one,  it  would  seem,  endeav- 
ouring to  shout  the  others  down,  and  the  whole  collection  making  enough 
noise  to  attract  to  the  spot  every  gamekeeper  within  a  radius  of  a  mile. 

One  finds  the  Little  Owl  nesting  in  all  kinds  of  queer  places  in  these  days  : 
in  hollow  elm,  oak,  beech,  or  apple  trees  ;  in  holes  in  disused  buildings,  or  even 
down  rabbit  earths,  and  yet  the  bird  is  not  by  any  means  easily  photographed, 
for  it  seems  invariably  to  nest  in  a  dark  hollow,  which  it  is  loth  to  leave,  and 
also  it  has  a  most  amazing  habit — when  its  suspicions  are  aroused — of  suddenly 
standing  bolt  upright,  and  then  of  squatting  down  just  as  suddenly  on  to  its 
perch  again. 

As  a  rule  the  Little  Owl's  eggs — from  four  to  six  in  number — are  laid  on 
the  dry  chips  of  wood  and  castings,  which  are  usually  at  the  bottom  of  the 
hole.  The  castings  are  generally  quite  small,  and  are  composed  of  mouse 
fur,  feathers,  and  numerous  beetles'  cases;  although  later  in  the  season, 
when  the  young  are  feathering,  much  larger  quarry  is  taken,  for  the  nest  is 
then  littered  with  the  remains  of  blackbirds,  starlings,  moles,  and  young  rabbits. 
I  noticed,  during  the  past  season,  when,  by  the  way,  there  was  an  unusual 
number  of  young  rabbits,  that  the  Little  Owls  fed  quite  largely  upon  the  smaller 
ones,  and  although  they  seem  always  to  prefer  a  field  mouse,  or  a  mole,  they 
have  no  hesitation  in  taking  a  small  rabbit  if  the  opportunity  should  occur. 
It  is  a  strange  fact  that  each  pair  of  owls  invariably  has  a  *  larder  ' 
quite  close  to  the  nest,  in  which  supplies  for  the  next  day  or  so  are  stored. 
Sometimes  such  a  '  larder  '  will  be  situated  in  a  hole  in  the  same  tree,  and 
some  few  feet  from  the  actual  nesting-hole.  At  others,  it  will  be  in  a  hole  in 
another  tree  close  by,  or  in  a  rabbit  hole  not  far  away  :  whilst  in  yet  other 
instances  it  may  be  in  the  same  hole  as  that  in  which  the  eggs  are  laid,  but 
in  a  specially  reserved  corner. 

The  Little  Owl,  like  the  Tawny,  or  Long-eared,  seems  to  trouble  little 
about  plucking  the  food  as  hawks  do,  although  it  often  pulls  out  the  long 
wing  and  tail  feathers  of  winged  quarry.  As  a  rule  the  victims  are  swallowed 
in  the  manner  which  will  cause  least  trouble,  and  any  feathers  that  happen 
to  be  adhering  to  the  selected  mouthful  are  swallowed  with  the  rest. 

Amongst  the  victims  comprising  the  larders  I  have  discovered  rats, 
mice,  young  rabbits,  robins,  sparrows,  greenfinches,  starlings,  blackbirds, 


72  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

thrushes,  missel  thrushes,  water  voles  (or  water  rats),  various  varieties  of  mice, 
frogs,  and  one  bullfinch.     I  have  not  yet  discovered  the  remains  of  any  game 

bird  ! 

I  am  indeed  inclined  to  think  that  the  Little  Owl  would  not  succeed  in 
taking  young  game  birds  unless  they  were  being  reared  under  artificial  conditions, 
when  they  would  become  so  accustomed  to  the  sight  of  the  man  who  feeds 
them  that  they  would  be  in  the  habit  of  running  into  the  open  to  meet  him, 
and  in  fact  of  spending  the  majority  of  their  time  upon  grass  that  is  not  much 
longer  than  that  of  a  normal  tennis  court.  Under  such  conditions  the  Little 
Owl,  or  any  other  bird  of  prey,  would  not  have  the  least  difficulty  in  picking 
one  of  them  up — nor  scruples  about  returning  for  more. 

But  should  a  Little  Owl  attempt  a  raid  upon  a  family  of  partridges  in 
the  wild  state,  his  presence  would  almost  certainly  be  detected  by  the  old 
bird,  who,  by  giving  the  alarm  cry,  would  cause  her  youngsters  to  crouch  motion- 
less, or  to  vanish  like  lightning  into  the  nearest  cover. 

If,  however,  the  owl  should  come  upon  the  family  so  suddenly  as  to  seize 
one  of  them  before  they  realized  what  is  happening,  the  mother  would  without 
hesitation  rush  in  to  the  rescue,  and  beat  the  miscreant  off. 

I  am  convinced  of  this  because  I  have  on  several  occasions  seen  a  trained 
merlin  attempt  to  '  bind  '  to  a  half-grown  partridge,  and  have  noticed  with 
what  determination  the  rest  of  the  covey  turn  and  set  upon  the  aggressor — 
invariably  sending  him  about  his  business. 

Since  the  rearing-field  is,  to-day  at  least,  a  thing  of  the  past,  the  Little 
Owl  has  little  chance  of  dining  off  a  brace  of  young  partridges. 

As  to  photography  of  the  Little  Owl,  it  is  well  for  the  enthusiast  to  remem- 
ber that  the  birds  will  not,  in  all  probability,  be  much  on  the  move  in  the  middle 
of  the  day  ;  and,  when  all  of  the  usual  preliminaries  have  been  duly  adjusted, 
he  had  best  make  up  his  mind  to  endure  some  trying  moments,  and  some 
monotonous  hours.  For  the  birds  may  not  come  near  the  place  until  evening, 
and  the  photographer  may  begin  to  wonder  whether  they  have  decided  to 
discontinue  the  issue  of  rations  during  daylight  hours.  After  all  the  owls  can 
feed  perfectly  well  in  semi  or  complete  darkness,  and  there  is  no  reason  why 
they  should  visit  the  nest  simply  because  the  photographer  would  like  them  to 
do  so. 

However,  with  luck,  one  of  the  owls,  may  unexpectedly  put  in  an  appear- 
ance, and  her  coming  will  be  heralded  by  an  excited  clamour  in  which  most 
of  the  small  birds  of  the  neighbourhood  seem  to  join — missel  thrushes  and 
chaffinches  perhaps  predominate,  but  blackbirds,  hedge-sparrows,  tits,  and  so 
on,  make  a  good  second. 

It  is  strange  how  any  movement  on  the  part  of  the  owl  will  excite  any 
small  birds  that  may  be  mobbing  it ;  and  how  quickly  the  commotion  subsides 
if  it  should  remain  still  for  a  while.  Such  a  period  of  quiet  may  ensue  that 


ALL  C LEAKY 


TWO   BROWN   OWLS  73 

the  photographer  is  tempted  to  ask  himself  whether,  after  all,  the  owl  was  not 
just  paying  a  flying  visit  and  may  not  have  gone  away  again. 

But  suddenly,  and  with  the  suspicion  of  a  '  flip  '  of  her  wings,  she  alights 
on  a  limb  of  her  own  tree,  and  not  10  feet  from  the  nesting-hole.  Hardly  daring 
to  move  his  head,  the  photographer  gazes  at  her  squat  little  form,  with  its 
great  yellow  eyes  ;  and  sees  hanging  from  her  talons  the  partially  plucked 
body  of  a  starling,  or  blackbird. 

Evidently  she  is  taking  stock  of  the  situation,  for  she  peers  around  her  on 
all  sides,  and  turns  her  head,  without  the  least  difficulty,  so  that  her  beak  is 
exactly  over  the  centre  of  her  back,  and  at  length,  having  concluded  that 
things  are  normal,  she  throws  herself  forward,  with  that  queer  action  that  is 
so  typical  of  Little  Owls,  and,  with  hardly  a  pause,  disappears  head  first  into 
the  nesting-hole. 

This  sudden  and  unexpected  manner  of  entering  the  nest  seems  to  be 
characteristic  of  the  owls  which  nest  in  holes,  and  reminds  me  of  a  little 
incident  which  occurred  years  ago  whilst  we  were  exploring  the  ruins  of  a 
derelict  cottage,  in  the  chimney  of  which  was  a  Barn  Owl's  nest. 

We  had  never  seen  a  Barn  Owl  at  close  quarters,  and  were,  of  course,  very 
anxious  to  do  so  :  but  since  this  particular  nest  was  some  6  feet  from  the  top 
of  the  chimney,  the  chances  of  reaching  one  of  the  young  ones  seemed  indeed 
remote. 

The  idea  of  removing  one  or  two  bricks  close  to  the  nest  by  working  from 
one  of  the  upstairs  rooms  of  the  cottage  then  occurred  to  us,  and  we  accordingly 
improvised  a  chisel  and  hammer,  and  set  to  work.  After  some  half  an  hour 
we  had  made  a  hole  through  to  the  inside  of  the  chimney,  and  could  see  the 
young  owls,  now  hissing  and  swaying  about  in  a  threatening  way,  standing 
on  the  edge  of  the  nest  facing  us. 

I  suggested  that  if  another  brick  were  removed  we  could  take  out  one  of 
the  young  owls  and  examine  it  carefully,  and  my  companion,  being  of  a  scien- 
tific turn  of  mind,  put  his  face  close  to  the  hole,  and  looked  through  with  the 
idea  of  seeing  what  had  best  be  done. 

At  this  moment,  by  some  strange  chance,  one  of  the  parent  owls  elected 
to  return,  and  dropped  feet  first  into  the  chimney  with  half-opened  wings. 
The  consequence  was  that  the  air,  liberally  mixed  with  soot  and  dust,  rushed 
out,  as  from  a  bellows,  into  my  companion's  face  and  eyes  ! 

I  have  during  the  past  season  seen  a  Tawny  Owl  enter  her  nest  in  exactly 
the  same  way,  and  have,  in  fact,  endeavoured  unsuccessfully  to  secure  photo- 
graphic records  of  her  doing  so. 

Within  a  very  short  distance  of  where  I  am  writing  these  lines  stands  the 
tree— or  rather  oak  stump— in  which  the  Tawny  Owl  laid  her  eggs  and  reared 
her  young. 

Before  the  eggs  had  hatched  there  was  always  something  in  the  way  of 


74  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

food  for  the  sitting  owl  lying  by  the  nest — a  mole  perhaps,  or  a  couple  of  mice. 
The  owl  would  sit  very  tightly,  and  usually  declined  to  leave  her  nest  until 
the  face  of  the  intruder  loomed  over  the  edge  of  her  chimney-like  home.  And, 
if  disturbed  from  her  nest,  she  would  usually  return  to  it  in  about  half  an  hour 
or  so,  but  before  actually  '  falling '  into  the  nest  she  invariably  spent  some 
time  on  a  neighbouring  oak-tree,  gazing  down  on  to  the  ground  below  her  as 
though  trying  to  discern  the  cause  of  her  disturbance. 

When  she  had  finally  convinced  herself  that  there  was  no  further  need  for 
alarm,  she  would  stretch  her  wings,  and  float  down  towards  the  entrance  to 
her  nest,  and  backwatering,  as  it  were,  immediately  above  it,  would  poise 
herself  for  a  fraction  of  a  second,  and  then,  with  wings  still  open,  but  pointing 
upwards,  would  literally  drop  into  it,  her  entrance  causing  a  curious  hollow 
'  plomp  ' — the  sort  of  sound  that  a  cushion  makes  when  one  drops  it  on  a  wood 
floor. 

This  particular  owl  was  sitting  on  two  eggs  only  :  not  by  any  means  an 
unusual  number,  although  the  Tawny  frequently  lays  four,  or  even  five. 

When  the  young  owls  eventually  hatched,  they  seemed  even  more  chubby 
than  the  young  Little  Owls  ;  extraordinarily  fat  little  creatures  they  were, 
covered  with  short  white  down,  which  reached  to  their  pink  toes.  They  also, 
when  a  few  days  old,  had  unhappy-looking  red  eyelids,  which  suggested  that 
they  were  suffering  from  a  severe  cold  in  the  head  and  gave  them  a  rather 
unhealthy  appearance. 

As  the  young  owls  developed,  the  pile  of  food  by  their  side  grew  larger  ; 
field  mice  and  rats  formed  the  principal  item,  and  so  many  of  the  latter  were 
brought  in  that  the  gamekeeper  of  the  place — who  was  happily  a  man  of 
discrimination,  and  had  no  ill-feelings  towards  the  owls — took,  on  several 
occasions,  a  handful  of  rats  from  the  nest  in  order,  as  he  put  it,  to  '  encourage 
the  old  owls  to  hunt.' 

This  may  be  considered  a  unique  attitude  for  a  gamekeeper  to  adopt, 
but  I  know  others  who  share  his  point  of  view. 

As  a  rule  the  nest  of  a  Tawny  Owl — as  in  the  case  under  discussion — is 
found  to  contain  the  bodies  of  rats,  mice,  and  perhaps  small  rabbits ;  whilst, 
where  the  other  three  owls  are  concerned,  the  nests  are  almost  invariably  littered 
with  the  remains  of  feathered  quarry,  or  the  castings  composed  of  their  bones. 

The  Tawny  Owl  does  not  always  nest  in  a  hollow— sometimes  it  utilizes 
the  disused  nest  of  another  bird  as  a  home  for  its  eggs  and  young,  and  it  is 
not  unusual  to  find  it  inhabiting  an  old  magpie's  nest,  which,  being  constructed 
with  a  roof,  affords  the  sitting  owl  a  certain  amount  of  overhead  cover. 

One  of  the  illustrations  shows  a  couple  of  red-eyed  young  Tawnies  sleeping 
off  the  effects  of  a  gorge  on  young  rabbit,  and  inhabiting  a  magpie's  nest, 
which  was  built  at  the  top  of  an  oak-tree— the  latter  half  of  the  rabbit  may  be 
seen  by  their  sides. 


YOUNG   TAWNY   OWLS 
IN    A   DISUSED 
MAGPIE'S   NEST 


A   TAWNY 
LEAVING    I1F.R 
NESTING   HOLE 


TWO   BROWN   OWLS  75 

In  another  illustration  is  shown  the  young  Tawny  which  we  discovered  in  a 
magpie's  nest  whilst  searching  for  the  Buzzard.  He  had  reached  the  stage  when 
to  remain  at  home  in  face  of  possible  danger  was  irksome  to  him,  for  he  elected 
to  try  his  luck  on  the  branches  outside- — he  was,  however,  as  yet  unable  to  fly. 

But,  when  they  are  available,  the  Tawny  Owl  would  seem  to  prefer  hollow 
trees  in  which  to  nest,  and  in  such  situations  he  is  certainly  safer  from  the  gun. 
It  is  possible  to  blow  a  sitting  bird  to  pieces  when  her  nest  is  constructed  of 
twigs  and  small  branches,  but  one  cannot  shoot  through  a  beech-tree,  even 
if  it  should  chance  to  be  hollow. 

That  the  Tawny  Owl  would  seem  to  be  gifted  with  a  certain  homing  instinct 
is  demonstrated  by  the  following  incident  which  occurred  during  my  school- 
days. I  had  an  exceedingly  tame  Tawny,  which,  although  it  had  complete 
liberty,  would  always  come  down  on  to  the  lawn  in  the  evenings  for  its  food. 

Many  a  time — when  darkness  had  set  in — would  I  suddenly  be  reminded 
of  the  fact,  by  the  incessant  shriekings  that  went  on  outside,  that  I  had  not 
fed  the  Owl.  And  the  moment  that  I  went  out  on  to  the  lawn  the  Owl  would 
come  down  from  some  tree  and  dance  round  me  with  half-open  wings,  in  its 
excitement  at  the  prospect  of  food. 

I  remember  once  being  presented  with  seven  mice,  which  I  gave  to  the 
Owl  one  after  another.  She  swallowed  them  all,  though  the  tail  of  the  last 
hung  from  her  beak  in  a  despondent  manner  for  some  minutes  after  the  body 
had  disappeared ! 

However,  food  was  not  always  easily  produced,  and  I  at  last  gave  the  Owl 
to  a  friend  living  some  two  or  three  miles  away,  who  much  admired  it.  He 
shut  it  in  an  aviary,  and  fed  it  carefully  for  some  days,  but,  as  might  be  sup- 
posed, the  novelty  of  the  thing  wore  off ;  and  I  think  he  was  rather  pleased 
when  one  day  his  father  offered  him  5s.  to  let  the  Owl  go.  My  friend  agreed 
to  the  proposal,  and  fulfilled  his  part  of  the  bargain— the  Owl,  when  released, 
sailing  majestically  away  over  the  trees.  The  next  evening,  however,  it  was 
back  in  its  tree  by  my  lawn,  shrieking  for  food  as  energetically  as  ever  ! 

Of  the  two  Brown  Owls  that  form  the  subject  of  this  chapter,  the  lesser 
is,  by  comparison,  much  the  stronger,  and  more  courageous.  When  it  is  con- 
sidered that  it  habitually  tackles  and  kills  such  birds  as  missel  thrushes,  which 
are  probably  as  heavy  as  itself,  it  may  safely  be  said  that  it  is  able  to  do  what 
none  other  of  our  owls  can  do. 

Still,  even  a  Little  Owl  is  not  strong  enough  to  hold  a  full-grown  partridge, 
and,  for  the  reasons  already  set  forth,  it  is  extremely  doubtful  whether  he  would 
ever  succeed  in  catching  a  young  one.  And  it  is  highly  improbable  that  a 
Tawny  Owl  would  attempt  to  secure  either. 


A  YOUNG  TAWNY 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Denizens  of  a  Beech  Grove 

THE  part  of  the  country  in  which  I  chance  to  reside  abounds  in  extremely 
fine  beech  trees  ;  so  fine  indeed  that  the  district  has  achieved  fame 
on  their  account. 

There  is  an  unusual  charm  about  a  group  of  tall  beeches,  with  their  smooth 
green  trunks,  symmetrical  shapes,  and  spreading  foliage ;  a  charm  that  is  en- 
hanced by  the  many  interesting  creatures  which  seek,  in  the  breeding  season, 
the  seclusion  of  their  shade. 

It  is  generally  in  the  month  of  May  and  June  that  the  beech  groves  prove 
most  attractive,  for  then  the  majority  of  the  creatures  which  they  harbour 
are  hard  at  work  rearing  the  new  generation  ;  and  one  is  pretty  sure  of  finding, 
or  seeing,  something  of  peculiar  interest. 

In  this  particular  locality  there  are  certain  birds  which  seem  to  have 
such  a  leaning  towards  beech  trees,  that  they  seldom  make  their  homes  any- 
where else — although  this  peculiarity  may  be  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that 
there  are  such  quantities  of  beeches ;  and  that  so  many  of  them,  by  being  more 
or  less  decayed,  offer  unusually  comfortable  nesting-sites. 

A  beech  tree,  unhappily  for  the  aspiring  ornithologist,  is  usually  extremely 
difficult,  and  frequently  impossible,  to  negotiate  ;  for  one  cannot  hope  to 
climb  up  the  bole  of  a  tree  which  measures  some  12  feet  in  circumference,  and 
is  quite  devoid  of  branches  for  50  feet  or  so  !  And  the  spiked  affairs  which 
are  used  by  men  for  ascending  telegraph  poles  are  out  of  the  question,  as  the 
bark  is  too  soft  to  hold  the  spike,  and  the  actual  wood  too  hard  to  be  penetrated. 
However,  there  are  at  least  some  amongst  these  inaccessible-looking  trees 
which  can  be  overcome,  and  on  these  we  must  concentrate. 

The  Tawny  Owl  and  the  Stock  Dove— both  of  which  love  to  nest  in  the 
hollow  of  a  beech — are  amongst  the  birds  which  begin  their  nest-building 
before  winter  has  really  left  us  ;  although  nest  building  is  really  a  too  dignified 
term  to  use  in  the  case  of  either  of  them  ;  for  the  first  generally  lays  its  eggs 
on  the  dead  wood  at  the  bottom  of  the  hollow,  and  the  second,  being  a  not 
much  more  gifted  architect,  collects  only  a  few  twigs  and  grass  stems  to  serve 
as  a  nest. 

77 


78  WILD   LIFE  IN  THE  TREE   TOPS 

Both  of  these  birds  often  commence  to  lay  in  the  month  of  February,  but 
since  they  are  referred  to  in  other  chapters,  we  will  not  discuss  them  in  detail  here. 
Probably  the  woodpeckers  are  the  most  attractive  birds  which  inhabit 
the  beech  woods,  and  of  these  the  Green  Woodpecker  is  the  commonest ;  whilst 
the  Greater  Spotted  is  of  rather  less  frequent  occurrence,  and  the  tiny  Lesser 
Spotted  the  rarest.  The  Greater  Spotted,  however,  being  more  frequently  met 
with  in  the  pine  woods,  has  been  dealt  with  in  another  chapter. 

The  Green  Woodpecker,  like  its  pied  relations,  excavates  its  nesting-home 
from  the  trunk  or  limb  of  a  decaying  tree,  and  does  not,  as  is  sometimes  sup- 
posed, bore  into  sound  wood. 

There  is  one  method  by  which  it  may  be  proved — even  if  the  nesting-hole 
is  out  of  reach — whether  the  woodpecker  has  been  boring  into  sound  or  dead 
wood  ;  and  that  is  by  examining  the  chips  of  wood  which  are  thrown  out 
and  will  be  found  at  the  foot  of  the  tree — for  the  woodpecker  does  not  carry 
away  such  chips,  as  it  is  sometimes  supposed  to.  The  male  Green  Woodpecker 
is  distinguished  from  the  female  by  having  rather  more  crimson  on  the  head, 
and  a  crimson  medial  streak  running  down  the  otherwise  black  '  moustaches.' 
Both  of  them  take  part  in  the  excavation  of  their  home. 

They  are  really  most  amusing-looking  birds,  and  quite  deserve  the  local 
name  of '  English  parrot ' — as  in  fact  they  also  do  the  ancient  epithet  of '  Yaffle,' 
for  their  ringing  cry  does  somehow  suggest  the  word. 

As  they  climb,  in  a  series  of  spasmodic  jerks,  up  the  smooth  trunk  of  a 
beech  tree,  one  is  inclined  to  wonder  how  so  heavy  a  bird  can  manage  to  do  so 
with  such  ease.  It  is  due  to  two  facts :  firstly,  that  their  feet  are  especially 
arranged  for  the  purpose  of  climbing* — having  two  toes  in  front  and  two  behind, 
which  are  armed  with  much  curved  and  excessively  sharp  claws  ;  and  secondly 
that  they,  as  it  were,  '  sit  down '  on  their  extraordinarily  stiff  tail  feathers. 
The  illustration  of  a  Green  Woodpecker  at  her  nesting-hole  perhaps  shows 
more  precisely  than  may  be  described,  the  manner  in  which  the  bird  thus 
props  itself  up  with  its  tail. 

Although  the  Green  Woodpecker  usually  utilizes  a  fresh  nesting-hole 
annually,  it  so  happens  that  this  illustration  shows  a  woodpecker  at  the  entrance 
to  a  nesting-hole  some  years  old. 

The  reason  for  this  was  that  the  woodpeckers  had  prepared  a  new  hole 
some  four  feet  lower  down  in  the  same  tree,  but  that  almost  as  they  had  finished 
their  work,  the  place  was  appropriated  by  a  pair  of  starlings — which  birds  not 
infrequently  thus  take  advantage  of  the  toils  of  the  woodpecker. 

A  nesting-site  which  is  at  some  considerable  height  from  the  ground  is 
usually  selected,  and  the  difficulties  of  obtaining  successful  photographs  are 
increased  by  the  fact  that  the  bark  of  the  tree  is  too  soft  to  hold  the  screws 
which  (it  is  hoped)  will  keep  the  camera  in  position,  and  the  actual  wood  so 
hard  that  it  is  difficult  to  persuade  the  screws  to  penetrate.  In  addition,  the 


DENIZENS   OF  A  BEECH  GROVE  79 

woodpecker  is  an  unusually  wary  bird  (as  its  face  suggests),  and  in  consequence 
of  this  fact,  various  cunning  devices  must  be  resorted  to  i  f  satisfactory  results 
are  to  be  obtained. 

This  woodpecker  has  a  habit,  it  seems,  of  intuitively  suspecting  the  where- 
abouts of  the  observer,  and  having  alighted  against  the  far  side  of  some  branch 
close  at  hand,  spends  some  time  in  popping  its  head  round  the  corner — in  order 
to  carry  out  a  short  reconnaissance — and  as  suddenly  withdrawing  it. 

However,  its  suspicions  being  at  length  partially  allayed,  it  next  flies  to 
the  home  tree,  usually  settling  so  that  the  trunk  comes  between  itself  and  the 
observer,  and  whence,  once  more,  its  head  intermittently  appears. 

Presently  it  jumps  sideways,  and  with  a  fluttering  of  its  wings,  climbs  the 
tree  until  it  is  about  three  feet  below  the  nesting-hole,  when  with  a  movement 
of  the  shoulders,  neck,  and  head,  which  reminds  one  of  an  animal  galloping, 
it  commences  the  series  of  upward  leaps,  the  click  of  its  claws  as  they  strike 
and  hold  to  the  bark  being  clearly  audible. 

On  arrival  at  the  entrance  to  the  nest,  the  woodpecker,  having  taken  a 
final  look  round,  lowers  her  head  and  disappears  inside  to  resume  her  duties 
of  brooding  the  glossy  pinkish-white  eggs,  which  are  laid  on  the  chips  of  wood 
at  the  bottom  of  the  hole. 

When,  later  on,  there  are  young  in  the  nest,  their  presence  may  easily  be 
determined  by  the  uncanny  and  unique  noise  which  issues,  if  the  entrance  be 
tapped.  Evidently  it  is  their  cry  of  expectancy  and  pleasure  and,  imagining 
that  their  parent  is  about  to  give  them  food,  they  thus  give  vent  to  their  feel- 
ings. The  noise  is  really  very  much  like  the  distant  shouting  of  a  crowd  at  a 
football  match  ! 

The  parent  woodpecker  when  visiting  her  young  generally  settles  at  a 
point  some  few  feet  below  the  nest-hole,  and  climbs  upwards  until  it  is  reached  ; 
her  arrival  being  loudly  acclaimed  by  the  wheezing  family. 

As  the  young  develop,  they  learn  to  climb  up  the  interior  of  the  nesting 
cavity,  which  is  some  9  inches  to  12  inches  deep,  to  look  out  on  to  the  world, 
and  incidentally  to  note  the  returning  form  of  the  food-laden  parent :  but 
since  the  entrance  to  the  hole  is  only  large  enough  to  accommodate  the  head 
of  one  young  woodpecker,  they  have,  as  it  were,  to  take  it  in  turns. 

Thus,  if  the  head  of  number  one  should  be  protruding  when  the  parent 
returns  with  food,  he  will  receive  the  whole  consignment,  and  then  retire  into 
the  depths  amongst  the  rest  of  the  family  whilst  number  two  takes  his  place. 
At  this  stage  the  cry  of  the  young  woodpeckers  has  also  undergone  considerable 
change,  for  it  is  now  a  sort  of  subdued  but  much  more  definite  intermittent 
chattering. 

Occasionally  both  old  woodpeckers  will  arrive  at  the  nest  simultaneously, 
and  one  will  then  wait  on  one  side  until  the  other  has  delivered  her  consignment 
of  food. 


80  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

Before  giving  the  food  to  the  young,  the  parent  woodpecker  first  arranges 
it  in  her  beak,  and  then,  turning  her  head  on  one  side,  transfers  it  to  that  of 
the  youngster  with  a  curious  quivering  movement  of  the  mandibles,  the  young 
receiving  it  in  the  same  manner. 

At  length  the  day  arrives  when  the  young  woodpeckers  are  sufficiently 
developed  to  leave  the  nest.  This  state  of  affairs  does  not  imply  that  they 
are  able  to  fly  well — but  that  they  can  climb  well,  can  sit  comfortably  on  their 
spreading  tails,  and  are  able  to  take  short  flights  from  one  branch  to  another. 
Before  venturing  into  the  world,  however,  the  young  woodpeckers  hesitate 
for  some  time  at  the  entrance  to  their  home.  With  head,  neck  and  shoulders 
protruding,  they  await  the  coming  of  their  parent,  and  utter  for  the  first  time  the 
loud  '  kewp  '  which  one  so  frequently  hears  when  the  young  Green  Wood- 
peckers are  spending  their  first  days  in  the  open. 

This  call  is  so  much  louder  and  more  insistent  than  the  hoarse  whisperings 
of  their  youth,  that  one  can  only  conjecture  that  it  is  instinctively  developed 
in  order  to  acquaint  the  parent  birds  with  the  new  position  of  the  young  ;  for 
since  they  are  continually  on  the  move  from  tree  to  tree  she  would  otherwise — 
one  imagines — have  considerable  difficulty  in  locating  them. 

When  the  young  woodpeckers  do  eventually  take  the  plunge  into  the 
open,  they  seem  to  experience  some  difficulty  in  getting  a  firm  foothold  on 
the  bark  of  the  tree — which  is,  of  course,  very  much  smoother  and  harder  than 
the  accustomed  inside  of  the  nesting-hole.  First  one  of  them,  having  reached 
as  far  out  as  he  possibly  can  without  actually  overbalancing,  comes  fluttering 
out,  and  clings  on  to  the  surface  of  the  bark  with  shaky  legs,  and  then,  as  it 
were,  getting  right  side  up,  immediately  commences  the  upward  journey. 
After  a  while  he  comes  to  a  halt  and  utters  his  ringing  monosyllabic  cry — 
'  Kewp.' 

The  rest  of  the  family  follow  at  shorter  or  longer  periods  ;  although 
owing  to  the  fact  that  there  is  often  considerable  variety  in  size  among  the 
members  of  a  woodpecker  family,  the  last  may  not  leave  until  a  few  days  after 
the  first. 

The  young  Green  Woodpeckers  differ  somewhat,  as  regards  their  plumage, 
from  the  mature  birds  ;  they  have  a  spotted  breast  and  throat,  instead  of  the 
neater  green  of  the  old  bird.  Also  their  eyes  are  dark,  and  they  lack  the  black, 
or  black  and  red  cheek  stripes.  They  are,  however,  exceedingly  beautiful 
birds. 

Having  left  the  nest,  the  young  woodpeckers  are  fed  for  some  time  by 
their  parents,  but  learn  comparatively  quickly  to  fend  for  themselves.  The 
principal  foods  of  the  Green  Woodpecker  are  ants  and  ants'  eggs,  and  of  them 
they  consume  millions.  If  one  of  the  birds  is  seen  to  fly  up  from  the  ground, 
a  careful  search  amongst  the  grass  at  about  the  spot  from  which  it  rose  will 
generally  reveal  a  quantity  of  small  holes  in  the  earth.  These  are  made  by 


THE  GREEN  WOODPECKER 
[Resting  upon  her  stiff  tail  featheis.] 


DENIZENS  OF  A  BEECH  GROVE  81 

the  woodpecker's  beak  in  his  efforts  to  seek  out  the  ants  ;  which  by  the  way 
he  withdraws  on  the  tip  of  the  extensile  tongue  with  which  all  woodpeckers 
are  provided. 

Such  an  extensile  tongue  may  be  protruded  at  will,  and  has  at  its  tip  a 
series  of  tiny  barbs,  together  with  a  glutinous  substance,  which  is  secreted  in 
glands  at  the  sides  of  the  woodpecker's  jaws. 

The  Lesser  Spotted  Woodpecker— which  often  nests  quite  low  down,  and 
is  comparatively  common  in  certain  districts,  resembles  his  larger  relation  in 
many  respects. 

But  there  is  one  characteristic  of  this  tiny  bird  in  which  it  seems  to  differ 
from  the  Green  Woodpecker,  and  that  is  in  its  habit  of  producing,  in  the  early 
spring,  a  drumming  or  jarring  noise.  I  have  on  several  occasions  been  attracted 
by  this  extraordinary  sound,  and  by  careful  stalking  have  eventually  reached  a 
spot  from  which  a  view  of  the  cause  of  it  could  be  obtained  ;  and  on  almost 
every  occasion  have  found  it  to  be  a  Lesser  Spotted  Woodpecker.  I  have  on 
very  rare  occasions  discovered  a  Greater  Spotted  Woodpecker  to  be  the  cause, 
but  it  is  almost  invariably  the  Lesser. 

The  rapidity  with  which  the  '  Lesser  Spot '  strikes  the  selected  piece  of 
wood  is  almost  incredible.  One  can  accurately  imitate  the  sound  thus  produced 
with  an  ordinary  electric  bell— only  a  cigar  box  should  be  substituted  for  the 
bell. 

The  sound  is  a  call-note,  and  the  woodpecker  carefully  tests  the  quality 
of  various  dead  branches  before  selecting  the  one  which,  on  being  struck,  emits 
the  greatest  resonance. 

The  actual  call  of  the  Lesser  Spotted  Woodpecker  is  a  rapidly-repeated 
4  che-chee-chee,'  a  call  very  similar  to  the  mating  call  of  the  Nuthatch,  which 
latter  bird  also  loves  to  make  his  home  in  the  hole  or  crevice  of  a  beech  tree. 

And  although  the  Nuthatch,  does  not  possess  the  stiff  tail  of  the  woodpecker, 
he  is  perfectly  at  home  on  the  smooth  bark  of  a  beech,  and  is  able  to  climb  up  or 
down,  or  sideways,  or  even  upside  down,  without  the  least  inconvenience.  He 
is  very  little  larger  than  a  Lesser  Spotted  Woodpecker,  and  the  entrance  to  his 
nesting-hole  is  almost  identical  in  size  with  that  of  his  pied  relative. 

It  is  very  differently  constructed,  however,  for  in  the  first  place,  a  Nuthatch 
does  not  excavate  its  own  home,  nor  does  it  lay  its  eggs  on  the  chips  of  wood 
at  the  bottom  of  the  hole.  What  it  does  is  to  select  a  suitable  nesting-hole, 
the  entrance  to  which  it  closes  in  with  mud  so  that  there  is  ultimately  only 
sufficient  room  for  the  bird  to  pass  in  and  out.  I  have  watched  a  pair  of 
nuthatches  thus  closing  up  the  selected  hole,  and  have  noticed  that  they  bring 
the  clay  in  the  form  of  a  little  ball  which  is  carried  on  the  tip  of  the  beak  ;  this 
they  carefully  poke  into  position,  and  go  off  in  search  of  a  further  supply.  On 
one  occasion  whilst  I  was  watching  this  process  of  *  mudding  up,'  I  noticed 
that  the  hen  Nuthatch  was  doing  all  the  work,  the  male  bird  contenting  him- 

L 


82  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

self  with  '  twit-twitting,'  and  constantly  putting  his  head  into  the  nesting- 
hole,  presumably  delighted  with  the  way  things  were  going  on.  When  dry, 
the  mud — one  might  call  it  cement — is  so  hard  that  it  is  a  difficult  matter  to 
break  it. 

The  actual  nest  of  the  Nuthatch,  when  in  the  depths  of  a  beech  tree,  is 
composed  of  small  pieces  of  dry  dead  beech  leaves,  perhaps  as  many  as  would 
fill  a  large  mug.  Where  the  nest  is  in  the  neighbourhood  of  pines,  it  is  made 
of  the  fine  flakes  which  occur  under  the  bark  of  such  trees. 

It  is  not  unusual  for  a  pair  of  nuthatches  to  choose  as  their  nesting-place 
a  hole  large  enough  to  easily  admit  one's  open  hand — so  that  a  considerable 
amount  of  mud  has  to  be  placed  in  position  before  the  entrance  is  sufficiently 
4  mudded  up.' 

In  such  a  cavity,  provided  that  it  is  at  a  sufficient  height  from  the  ground, 
and  has  a  large  enough  interior,  one  may,  in  the  early  summer  months,  come 
upon  a  colony  of  Noctule  Bats.  I  have  personally  never  found  these  bats 
living  in  any  other  tree  than  a  beech,  although  I  have  at  various  times  discovered 
many  colonies  ;  some  of  them  consisting  of  as  many  as  thirty  or  forty  bats. 

A  general  aversion  to  bats  is  common  to  many  of  us — and  one  has  met 
ladies  who  really  quite  dread  the  idea  of  taking  a  walk  on  a  summer  evening 
in  case  a  bat  should  elect  to  keep  up  its  reputation  by  taking  refuge  in  their  hair  ! 

But  the  bat,  although  not  so  shy  as  most  wild  creatures,  possibly  on 
account  of  the  fact  that  it  does  not  generally  come  into  contact  with  mankind, 
is  only  too  ready  to  beat  a  retreat  if  capture  or  death  is  threatened  ;  and  if 
one  should  be  thus  entangled  it  would  be  owing  to  an  accident.  Not  infrequently 
on  a  dark  windy  night,  a  bat  may  pass  by  so  closely  that  one's  face  or  coat 
may  be  touched  by  its  wing,  and  if,  instead  of  the  face  or  coat,  the  wing  should 
happen  to  touch  a  woman's  hair  or  hair  net,  the  tiny  claws  would  in  all  proba- 
bility become  entangled. 

And  then  too,  the  bat,  being  such  a  grotesque,  gargoyle-like  creature, 
whose  movements  suggest  evil,  creeping  things,  is  calculated  to  inspire  a 
feeling  of  revulsion  in  the  superstitious  breast.  But  it  should  always  be 
remembered  that,  in  spite  of  its  unfortunate  appearance,  it  is  blessed 
with  the  same  emotions  as  the  other  more-attractive-looking  creatures,  and 
protects  itself  and  its  young  with  as  much  bravery  and  tenacity  as  the  majority 
of  them. 

One  may  sometimes  discover  the  retreat  of  a  colony  of  Noctule  Bats  by 
chancing  to  walk  under  their  tree  on  a  summer  evening,  just  as  the  bats  are 
on  the  point  of  setting  out  for  the  evening  flight.  For  at  that  time  they  become 
quite  excited,  and  make  a  curious  little  cluttering  cry — very  like  the  sound  of 
two  pennies  being  clinked  together,  and  very  much  indeed  like  the  incessant 
cries  of  young  Spotted  Woodpeckers — Greater  or  Lesser. 

Presently  a  small  brown  head  appears  at  the  entrance  to  the  '  den,'  and  a 


DENIZENS   OF  A  BEECH   GROVE  83 

moment  later  a  Noctule  spreads  its  wings,  drops  for  a  few  feet,  and  swings 
upwards  and  away  into  the  evening  air.  Soon  another  follows,  and  another, 
and  another,  each  one  allowing  himself  to  drop  for  several  feet — and  thus  gain 
impetus — before  winging  his  way  through  the  trees. 

It  is  quite  an  uncanny  experience  to  look  into  a  bat's  den  and  see  the 
forms  of  the  bats  hanging  head  downwards  from  the  roof,  or  moving  slowly 
and  silently  about  the  walls  of  their  home.  The  scent  of  such  a  den  is  extremely 
unpleasant— a  queer  sickly  medicinal  smell  that  is,  as  far  as  I  know,  not  to  be 
encountered  elsewhere. 

When  the  bats  realize  that  an  enemy  is  at  their  door,  their  movements 
become  more  rapid,  whilst  an  atmosphere  of  anxiety  comes  over  them.  First 
one  and  then  another  will  prepare  to  make  a  dash  for  freedom,  only  to  scuttle 
back  into  the  darkness  if  the  intruder  should  make  any  sudden  movement. 
Presently  a  little  wrinkled  bull-dog  face  will  appear  at  the  threshold — its  thick 
upper  lip  quivering,  its  tiny  deep-set  eyes  shining  in  terror  ;  then  like  a  flash 
it  starts  back,  its  sharp  little  teeth  bared,  its  head  well  back  between  the 
shoulders.  Attempt  to  touch  it,  and  you  will  most  assuredly  be  bitten — 
although,  since  the  bat's  teeth  are  quite  short,  no  more  serious  damage  will  be 
done  than  the  loss  of  a  little  blood  entails. 

Noctule  Bats  certainly  look  evil  little  creatures ;  but  after  all  they  are  not 
responsible  for  their  forms  or  faces,  and  the  female  Noctule  is  a  most  devoted 
parent. 

When  the  single  young  one  is  first  born  it  clings  to  the  underside  of  its 
mother's  body  with  its  tiny  claws,  and  to  her  breast  with  its  as  yet  toothless 
gums,  and  in  this  manner  it  is  carried  by  the  mother  when  she  takes  her  nocturnal 
flights.  It  runs  no  risk  of  becoming  detached,  for  it  clings  on  with  the 
most  extraordinary  tenacity,  and  in  fact  can  only  be  pulled  off  with  difficulty. 
These  newly-born  little  bats  are  even  more  gargoyle-like  than  their  parents, 
for  they  are  quite  hairless  and  are  covered  with  a  pinkish,  wrinkled  skin.  When 
they  are  sufficiently  developed  they  are  left  behind  when  their  mothers  go  out 
for  the  evening  hunt.  By  this  time  they  are  covered  with  a  very  short  mouse- 
coloured  fur,  unlike  their  parent's,  whose  coat  is  a  rich  chestnut  colour.  I 
have  looked  into  a  bat's  den  on  a  summer  evening,  when  the  females  had  left 
for  the  night,  and  seen  some  two  or  three  dozen  young  bats,  as  yet  unable  to 
fly,  squirming  and  writhing  within  ! 

During  my  varied  experiences  of  these  bats  I  have  not  yet  discovered  a 
colony  in  which  both  sexes  were  present — that  is  to  say,  the  colonies  were  invari- 
ably composed  entirely  of  males  or  entirely  of  females.  One  day  I  may  be 
lucky  enough  to  discover  a  mixed  colony. 

It  is  a  common  belief  that  the  bat,  if  placed  upon  flat  ground,  is,  on  account 
of  the  shortness  of  its  legs,  unable  to  fly.  I  well  remember,  years  ago,  taking 
two  Noctule  Bats  home  with  me  to  see  if  this  was  so.  One  of  them  I  placed 


84  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE   TREE  TOPS 

on  the  tennis  lawn,  where  it  remained  for  a  moment,  and  then  raising  its  body 
on  the  tips  of  its  wings,  flapped  vigorously  and  eventually  got  up  into  the  air. 
For  a  few  moments  it  circled  round  like  a  homing  pigeon  liberated  from  a  basket, 
and  then,  getting  its  bearings,  went  off  in  a  bee-line  foi-  the  beech  wood  from 
which  I  had  taken  it. 

I  was  about  to  test  the  other,  which  I  had  placed  in  my  pocket,  when  it 
managed  to  escape,  and  having  circled  round  some  half-dozen  times,  followed 
its  relative  towards  the  familiar  trees. 


THREE  FEMALE 
NOCTULES  AND 
THEIR  YOUNG 


CHAPTER  IX 

About    the    Kestrel 

r  I    \HE  Kestrel,  or  Wind-hover,  is  probably  the  one  British  hawk  with 

which  the  people  of  this  country  generally  are  really  acquainted  ;  for 

•*•        it  is  so  widely  distributed,  and  is  so  conspicuous  in  its  unique  habit 

of  hanging  motionless  in  the  air,  as  to  have  attracted  the  attention  of  almost 

every  one. 

In  fact,  in  many  districts,  the  only  conditions  under  which  the  inhabitants 
have  ever  seen  a  hawk  is  when  it  is  thus  '  hovering  '  over  the  fields  ;  and  so, 
merely  putting  it  down  as  '  a  hawk,'  they  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  is  characteristic  of  all  hawks  to  hover. 

This,  however,  is  not  the  case,  and  although  the  Buzzard  may  hover  for  a 
few  seconds  over  a  hedge  where  a  rabbit  is  hiding ;  or  a  Merlin  may  do  so  in 
like  manner  over  the  spot  where  her  quarry  has  '  put  in ' ;  the  Kestrel  is  the 
only  British  hawk  which  habitually  hovers  whilst  on  the  look-out  for  its  prey. 

For  the  Kestrel,  known  in  the  ancient  days  as  the  '  Knaves'  hawk,'  is 
indeed  a  poor  flier,  and  relies  upon  the  impetus  which  it  derives  from  dropping 
from  a  height  to  enable  it  to  catch  such  fast  flying  birds  as  starlings,  or  meadow 
pipits. 

As  a  general  rule,  the  Kestrel  does  not  trouble  about  pursuing  such  elusive 
quarry,  and  subsists  largely  upon  beetles,  frogs,  earthworms,  and  the  like  ; 
although  when  its  eggs  are  hatched,  and  there  is  an  incessantly  hungry  family 
to  feed,  it  must  needs  exert  itself  to  secure  more  substantial  items,  and  it  is 
then  that  it  tackles  the  more  dignified  fowl. 

Such  a  variety  of  views  have  at  various  times  been  expressed  as  to  the 
amount  of  '  good  '  or  *  harm  '  Kestrels  do  to  mankind  that  it  would  be  rather 
difficult,  without  some  first-hand  knowledge  of  the  bird,  to  form  any  definite 
opinion  as  to  its  manner  and  means  of  subsistence. 

There  are  those  who  affirm  that  it  feeds  almost  entirely  on  beetles,  grass - 
,'ioppers,  or  the  remains  of  an/  dead  creatures  that  it  may  find ;  and  on  the 
other  hand  there  are  others  who  maintain  that  its  diet  consists  of  mice,  voles, 
and  occasionally  a  young  bird  of  some  small  species. 

Then,  of  course,  the  gamekeepers— or  many  of  them— tell  us  that  the  bird 

85 


86  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

is  a  poacher  of  the  worst  possible  type,  who  troubles  not  about  beetles,  or  mice, 
when  the  young  pheasants  are  about ;  and  whose  proper  place  is  among  the 
stoats,  hedgehogs,  and  jays  on  the  '  scrag-pole.' 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  Kestrel  feeds  exclusively  upon  any  of 
these  delicacies.  One  has  to  consider  that  some  of  them  are  not  available 
at  all  times  of  the  year ;  and  that  the  Kestrel  is  harder  pressed  for  food  at 
some  seasons  than  at  others. 

Actually,  it  feeds  more  or  less  upon  them  all,  and  though  I  have  often  argued 
with  gamekeepers  to  try  to  persuade  them  not  to  shoot  the  Kestrel,  I  know 
within  my  heart  that  the  little  hawk  does  occasionally  take  young  pheasants 

when  an  easy  chance^  presents  itself — just  as   he   does  occasionally  feed  on 

dead  rabbit,  or  earthworms. 

There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that  the  number  of  game  birds  destroyed 
under  natural  conditions,  by  Kestrels,  is  extremely  small,  and  quite  insignifi- 
cant when  compared  with  the  vast  quantities  of  beetles,  mice,  etc.,  that  the 
bird  consumes.  For  I  am  certain  that,  if  young  pheasants  were  reared  in  the 
wild  state,  and  under  the  care  of  a  protecting  mother,  there  would  be  practically 
no  danger  of  any  of  them  falling  a  victim  to  a  Kestrel — for  precisely  the  same 
reason  as  in  the  case  of  the  Little  Owl. 

And  the  argument  that  applies  to  the  Little  Owl  applies  equally  to  the 
Kestrel.  There  are  more,  and  stronger,  partridges  this  year  than  there  have 
been  for  many  seasons ;  there  are  also — perhaps  as  the  result  of  the  war — 
more  Kestrels. 

I  have  in  mind  a  particular  district  where,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the 
owner  of  the  place  is  a  keen  ornithologist,  Kestrels  are  not  interfered  with. 
During  the  past  summer  I  chanced  to  find  no  less  than  five  Kestrel  families  in 
a  quite  small  area.  All  of  them  got  safely  away,  and  yet  the  number  of 
partridges  in  the  vicinity  to-day  is  really  prodigious,  and  on  September  17 
of  this  year  twelve  guns  killed  no  less  than  eighty-three  brace. 

Still,  in  spite  of  sustained  arguments,  the  war  against  the  hawk  tribe  is 
carried  sternly  on.  Many  Kestrels  are  shot  annually  in  the  breeding  season, 
for  there  is  nothing  easier  than  to  creep  to  the  foot  of  the  tree  where  the  Kestrel 
has  her  home,  and  have  a  couple  of  barrels  at  her  as  she  goes  away.  And  after 
all,  if  a  hit  is  not  scored,  it  does  not  matter  much,  for  the  little  hawk  is  so  solici- 
tous for  her  eggs  or  young  that  she  is  certain  to  return  to  them  pretty  soon, 
and  then  one  barrel  ought  to  do  the  business  if  she  should  pitch  on  to  a  bare 
branch  with  no  intervening  leaves. 

I  really  think  that  a  number  of  gamekeepers  class  Merlins,  Kestrels, 
and  Sparrow  Hawks  under  the  heading  of  '  Hawks,'  and  do  not  trouble  to 
differentiate — even  if  able  to  do  so — between  them. 

The  Kestrel— like  the  Hobby  and  the  Merlin— does  not  build  a  home  for 
itself,  but  either  lays  its  eggs  in  a  hollow,  or  appropriates  the  nest  of  some 


ABOUT  THE   KESTREL  87 

other  bird,  usually  that  of  a  crow  or  magpie,  and  often  does  so  within  a  few 
days  of  the  evacuation  of  the  rightful  owner ;  as,  for  instance,  when  I  found 
a  crow's  nest  containing  five  Kestrel's  eggs  and  one  crow's  egg— the  female 
crow  having  been  shot  as  she  left  the  nest  some  two  weeks  before.  The  Kestrel 
was,  of  course,  sitting  on  the  six  eggs,  though  I  never  knew  if  the  young  crow 
hatched  under  the  strange  foster-parent. 

I  also  remember  a  rookery  in  which  a  pair  of  Kestrels  had  taken  over  one 
of  the  rooks'  nests,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  young  rooks  had  flown  only 
some  week  or  ten  days  previously. 

And  a  pair  of  Kestrels  will  often  fight  for  a  nest  which  has  happened  to 
take  their  fancy  and  which  the  rightful  owner  is  loth  to  relinquish. 

I  have  watched  a  pair  of  Kestrels,  who  had  designs  upon  a  Carrion  Crow's 
nest  that  was  undergoing  construction,  endeavour,  by  repeatedly  stooping  at 
the  crows,  to  drive  them  out  of  the  neighbourhood,  so  that  they  might  take 
possession  of  the  nest. 

The  crows,  however,  being  strong,  courageous  birds,  were  not  easily 
intimidated,  and  gave  the  Kestrels  as  good  as  they  received ;  although  at 
last,  wearying  of  so  much  hard  flying,  they  decided  to  decamp,  and  left  the 
little  hawks  victors  of  the  situation,  and  free  to  commence  the  business  of 
rearing  a  family. 

Kestrels,  like  the  other  hawks,  usually  return  to  the  same  districts  annually 
to  nest,  and  lay  from  three  to  six  very  beautiful  reddish-coloured  eggs.  While 
the  female  is  sitting  the  male  sometimes  takes  perch  near  the  nest,  and  utters 
from  time  to  time  a  long-drawn  plaintive  cry,  which,  perhaps,  is  his  best  attempt 
at  a  song. 

I  have  known  of  an  instance  in  which  the  male  Kestrel  seemed  to  do  all  the 
brooding  whilst  eggs  were  in  the  nest ;  in  any  case  I  took  several  photos — one 
of  which  is  reproduced  here — and  each  of  them  showed  the  male  bird  on  the 
nest. 

There  is  a  very  considerable  difference  in  colour  between  the  female  and 
male  Kestrel ;  for  whereas  the  former  is  of  a  uniform  rusty  brown  colour, 
covered  with  markings  of  a  darker  brown,  and  has  a  tail  that  is  laterally  barred 
with  black  and  greyish  bands,  the  latter  is  of  a  much  more  reddish  colour, 
with  a  slatey-blue  tail  having  a  single  broad  black  band  across  the  end.  So 
there  is  no  mistaking  a  male  Kestrel,  even  in  a  photograph. 

Whilst  attempting  to  obtain  cinematograph  records  of  the  Kestrels  at  home, 
I  had  perhaps,  unusual  opportunities  of  watching  the  birds  at  really  close  quar- 
ters, for  my  observation  post  was  but  8  feet  away  from  the  nest ;  and,  since  when- 
ever I  tried  for  photographs  I  generally  stopped  in  it  all  day,  I  could  not  very 
well  do  otherwise  than  witness  some  interesting  and  amusing  incidents. 

Of  course  various  preliminaries  in  the  way  of  fixing  the  sacking,  of  arrang- 
ing the  cinema  camera  platform,  of  lashing  in  position  a  small  branch  to  act  as  a 


88  WILD  LIFE   IN  THE  TREE   TOPS 

seat,  all  had  to  be  overcome,  and  the  tout  ensemble  camouflaged  before  it 
could  be  occupied.  I  remember  that  the  one  particular  difficulty  that  arose 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  I  had  arranged  to  have  the  camera  on  the  left-hand 
side  of  the  tree,  but  had  not  allowed  for  the  extra  space  that  the  handle  would 

require for  when  I  ultimately  fixed  the  camera  in  position  I  found  that  it 

would  be  impossible  to  turn  this  handle  without  moving  the  whole  camera — or 
cutting  off  the  top  of  the  tree  ! 

However,  it  seems  that  such  difficulties  are  more  or  less  bound  to  occur. 
One  can  only  learn  by  experience,  and  try,  by  looking  ahead,  to  foresee  possible 
pitfalls. 

When  I  first  retired  into  the  observation  post  the  young  Kestrels  were  only 
about  ten  or  twelve  days  old — although  even  at  this  age  they  were  sufficiently 
advanced  to  crouch  instinctively  on  the  nest  until  they  felt  that  danger  had  passed. 
Soon,  however,  they  began  to  rise  up  and  take  an  interest  in  life ;  all  four  of 
them  setting  to  work  to  preen  their  growing  feathers,  which  were  just  appear- 
ing through  the  down,  or  pecking  thoughtfully  at  the  dried-up  bones  of  small 
birds  on  the  floor  of  the  nest. 

Then  one  of  them — tired  it  seemed  of  this  life  of  lethargy — would  stand 
on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  nest,  and  facing  the  other  three,  would  proceed  to 
exercise  his  wings  in  the  most  vigorous  manner — his  stumpy  half-grown  tail 
working  up  and  down  like  the  parasol  of  a  tight -rope  walker,  as  he  tried  to  main- 
tain his  balance. 

Presently  I  heard  the  long-drawn  cry  of  what  I  imagined  to  be  the  male 
returning  with  food  for  the  family  ;  and  through  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  obser- 
vation post  I  caught  sight  of  him — followed  by  the  female,  who  was  now 
also  screaming — as  he  planed  down  towards  an  elm-tree  away  to  the  right. 

A  few  moments  later  the  young  Kestrels  showed  evident  signs  of  expectancy, 
for,  with  partially  spread  wings,  and  uttering  the  little  cry  that  they  make 
when  feeding  time  is  at  hand,  they  gazed  intently  into  the  branches  above 
them ;  and  without  further  warning,  the  female  Kestrel,  holding  in  her  beak 
the  body  of  a  small  bird  which  had  been  pretty  thoroughly  plucked,  dropped 
suddenly  on  to  the  side  of  the  nest. 

Then  transferring  the  prey  from  her  beak  to  her  foot,  and  holding  it  down 
with  the  talons  of  the  first  toe,  she  proceeded  to  tear  it  to  pieces  with  her  beak. 
When  a  small,  and  conveniently  shaped,  piece  was  detached,  she  held  it  out 
in  the  tip  of  her  beak  to  one  of  the  young  ones,  who  immediately  seized  and 
swallowed  it ;  in  fact  the  various  members  of  the  family  seemed  to  be  so  anxious 
to  secure  a  full  share  that  they  often  pecked  small  pieces  from  the  body  of  the 
victim  as  it  lay  under  their  parent's  feet.  If  rather  too  large  a  piece  was  torn 
off,  the  mother  would  either  break  it  up  and  distribute  it,  or  swallow  it  herself. 
She  did  not,  as  did  the  Hobby,  disgorge  any  food  for  the  youngsters— doubtless 
because  they  had  passed  the  stage  when  they  should  be  fed  in  that  way. 


ABOUT  THE   KESTREL  89 

One  of  the  accompanying  illustrations  shows  a  female  Kestrel  at  the 

moment  of  her  arrival  at  the  nest — which  contains  quite  small  young  ones with 

a  mature  meadow  pipit  in  her  beak.  It  was  once  criticised  as  being  a  probable 
4  fake,'  because  the  critic  was  under  the  impression  that  Kestrels  invariably 
feed  their  young  by  the  process  of  regurgitation— whereas  actually  they  only 
sometimes  do  so. 

But  there  is  another  point  of  interest  about  this  photograph,  which  is  this  : 
How  can  so  slow-flying  a  bird  as  a  Kestrel  catch  such  a  clever  flier  as  a  mature 
meadow  pipit  ?  It  certainly  could  not  do  so  in  fair  flight,  and  we  can  only 
presume  that  the  Kestrel,  whilst  hovering  overhead,  chanced  to  spy  the  pipit 
amongst  the  grass,  and  without  any  unnecessary  warning,  pounced  on  it. 

When  our  Kestrel  had  distributed  all  of  the  food,  she  stayed  with  her  young 
for  a  while,  and  then,  apparently  satisfied  with  their  appearance,  flew  off  to 
a  favourite  perch  in  a  neighbouring  tree. 

Within  less  than  an  hour  the  niale  again  uttered  his  call  note,  and  as 
before  the  female  soon  afterwards  returned  to  the  nest — this  time  with  an 
immature  lark  in  her  beak.  This  lark  was  in  fact  so  young  that  it  is  doubtful 
whether  it  would  have  been  able  even  to  crawl,  and  the  only  flight  feathers 
it  had  consisted  of  little  quills  with  the  suggestion  of  webbing  at  their  tips. 

So  the  male  Kestrel  is  evidently  not  above  settling  by  the  nest  of  some 
ground-building  bird,  which  he  has  espied  from  aloft,  and  proceeding  to  drag 
out  the  unfortunate  occupants.  I  am  of  the  opinion  that  one  can  judge  pretty 
accurately  the  mentality  of  a  bird  by  studying  its  face ;  just  as  one  may 
'  size  up  '  a  human  being.  And  of  all  the  hawks  I  think  that  the  Kestrel,  judged 
by  its  expression,  is  the  one  that  would  do  such  an  undignified  thing  as  to 
drag  half-fledged  birds  from  the  nest !  One  certainly  cannot  imagine  the  fero- 
cious wild-eyed  Sparrow  Hark  doing  anything  of  the  kind  ;  nor  indeed  the 
keen,  bright-eyed  little  Merlin. 

But  to  return  to  the  nest.  I  next  tried  for  some  cinema  records  about 
a  week  later,  and  was  quite  surprised  to  see  how  much  the  young  Kestrels  had 
developed.  They  appeared  not  to  be  much  bigger,  but  the  way  in  which  their 
speckled  feathers  were  coming  through  the  down  imparted  to  them  a  very 
much  more  '  grown-up  '  appearance. 

Also  they  were  much  more  upset  at  the  shock  of  seeing  me  than  on  the 
previous  week,  for  they  lined  up  facing  me,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  nest,  and 
with  raised  wings  and  open  beaks  prepared  to  fight  to  the  last.  During  such  a 
demonstration,  young  hawks,  be  they  Merlins,  Sparrow  Hawks,  Hobbies,  or  Kes- 
trels, make  a  curious  little  gasping  sound,  which  suggests  that  they  are  so 
frightened  that  they  cannot  get  their  breath  properly. 

However,  when  all  was  quiet,  they  presently  regained  their  composure, 
and  soon  resumed  their  pastimes  of  preening,  exercising  their  wings,  and  clutch- 
ing with  their  talons  at  imaginary  victims.  It  is  interesting  to  note  how  young 


90  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

animals,  or  birds,  particularly  those  kinds  which  prey  upon  other  creatures, 
instinctively  practise  in  their  youth  the  means  by  which  they  will  ultimately 
procure  their  food.  Kittens  devote  an  extraordinary  amount  of  time  to  the 
business  of  stalking  one  another  round  the  table  legs  ;  puppies  exhaust  themselves 
by  digging  holes,  and  chewing  bedroom  slippers  ;  and  the  young  Kestrels  spend 
hours,  on  the  extremely  limited  space  which  the  nest  affords,  in  snatching 
with  lightning  foot-stroke  at  any  pieces  of  wood,  bone,  or  other  debris  that  may 
chance  to  take  their  fancy. 

On  this  occasion  I  had  arranged  a  small  hole  in  the  canvas  of  the  observation 
post  quite  close  to  my  head,  and  by  placing  my  eye  closer  to  it  could  get  a  very 
good  view  of  the  country  below  and  of  the  distance  away  over  the  marshes, 
where  I  noticed  the  male  Kestrel  generally  did  his  hunting. 

As  it  turned  out,  this  proved  to  be  a  useful  move,  for  during  the  day  I 
heard  the  call  of  the  approaching  male,  and  placing  my  eye  to  the  peep  hole 
witnessed  a  pretty  incident. 

He  was  returning  from  the  direction  of  the  marshes,  and  even  from  that 
distance,  probably  some  200  yards  away,  I  thought  I  could  make  out  a  little 
lump  beneath  him,  which  I  took  to  be  the  body  of  some  victim  that  he  was  bring- 
ing to  the  young.  When  he  had  got  to  within  about  80  yards  of  the  tree,  I  saw 
the  female  fly  from  a  bare  branch  on  which  she  was  sitting,  and  swing  up  to 
him  in  the  air.  For  a  moment  the  two  forms  seemed  locked  together,  and  then 
they  swung  apart,  the  one  to  return  marshwards,  and  the  other,  now  with  the 
prey  in  her  talons,  to  come  immediately  on  to  the  nest. 

She  did  not,  however,  stay  to  distribute  the  meal,  apparently  for  the  reason 
that  she  considered  that  the  young  ones  ought  by  this  time  to  know  how  to  help 
themselves — an  opinion  that  to  some  extent  was  justified,  for  one  of  the 
young  hawks  lost  no  time  in  falling  to  upon  it,  and  by  turning  his  back 
upon  any  one  of  the  others  that  approached  too  closely  and,  as  it  were,  forming 
a  tent  out  of  his  half-spread  wings  and  tail,  was  able  to  enjoy  his  meal  without 
interruption.  In  fact  the  rest  of  the  family  seemed  almost  immediately  to  give 
up  the  idea  of  attempting  to  share  in  the  spoil,  and  resignedly  carried  on  with 
the  work  of  preening  and  wing-stretching.  It  would  almost  seem  that,  at  this 
age,  the  young  Kestrels  utterly  lacked  any  idea  of  initiative,  or  persistence, 
for  only  the  individual  who  had  first  seized  the  food  showed  any  signs  of  keen- 
ness for  it — the  remainder  merely  trying  in  a  half-hearted  way  for  a  share,  and 
then  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  nest  listlessly  gazing  into  space,  until  it  occurred 
to  them  to  do  something  more  useful. 

Later  in  the  day  the  male  Kestrel  came  in  with  a  field  mouse  in  his  talons. 
This  the  female  took  from  him  as  before,  and  brought  to  the  nest,  where  it  was 
quickly  devoured  by  the  youngster  that  was  lucky  enough  to  grab  it  in  the  first 
place. 

I  particularly  noticed  that  this  mouse  had  not  been  plucked,  and  it  is 


ABOUT  THE   KESTREL  91 

interesting  to  note  that  the  Buzzard  should  so  carefully  prepare  young  rabbits, 
whilst  the  Kestrel  does  not  trouble  about  plucking  anything  but  feathered  quarry! 

Instead  of  returning  to  the  marshes  as  before,  the  male  Kestrel  came  and 
perched  on  a  branch  just  over  the  nest  a  few  yards  from  where  I  was  sitting— 
and  an  exceedingly  beautiful  bird  he  was,  with  his  slate-blue  head,  almost  plum- 
coloured  back,  and  blue-grey  tail.  He  was  very  little  smaller  than  the  female, 
smarter  in  bearing,  and  perhaps  closer-feathered. 

Some  six  days  later  I  again  visited  the  young  Kestrels,  and  again  they  had 
undergone  a  metamorphosis.  Now  the  woolly  coats  of  their  youth  were 
exchanged  for  the  sleek,  perfectly  fitting  feathers  that  were  coming  down  so 
rapidly,  whilst  they  had  also  acquired  the  fierce,  eager  expressions  of  the  old 
birds. 

The  only  noticeably  youthful  characteristic  about  them  now  was  the 
little  white  downy  tuft  that  still  adhered  to  the  top  of  each  of  their  heads,  and 
which  imparted  to  them  an  almost  judicial  appearance. 

And  their  fierce  expressions  did  not  in  any  way  belie  their  subsequent 
actions,  for  when  the  call  of  the  male  heralded  a  fresh  supply  of  food,  the  young 
hawks  developed  such  a  state  of  noisy  excitement  as. would  suggest  that  they 
experienced  difficulty  in  containing  themselves  in  their  efforts  to  be  first  at  the 
psychological  moment. 

And,  as  before,  the  female  suddenly  alighted  on  the  nest ;  and  left  with  them 
the  partially  plucked  body  of  a  young  thrush.  But  now  no  lethargy,  no  lack 
of  initiative  is  apparent  among  the  eager  family.  Useless  is  it  for  the  one  who 
has  secured  the  prize  to  try  to  shield  it  from  the  rest  of  the  family.  Now  it  is 
every  man  for  himself,  and  the  devil  take  the  hindmost. 

First  one  and  then  another  drags  the  body  of  the  unhappy  thrush  from  the 
clutches  of  brothers  and  sisters,  whilst  mouthfuls  are  snatched  by  those  who 
happen  to  see  a  convenient  portion  protruding  from  under  quivering  tail  or 
wing. 

Eventually  the  whole  family  are  tightly  packed  on  the  meal,  each  one 
it  seems  endeavouring  to  eat  his  fill  before  the  others  have  finished  everything 
up. 

In  the  end  there  proved  to  be  more  than  they  could  manage ;  although 
even  then  the  one  who  had  got  possession  of  the  remains  seemed  loth  to  let 
them  go,  and  prepared  to  drag  them  after  him  as  he  walked  backwards  round  the 
nest. 

The  flight  feathers  of  the  young  hawks  were  now  so  far  developed  that 
when  they  exercised  their  wings  they  were  able  to  raise  themselves  from  the 
nest ;  in  fact,  one  of  them  during  an  unusually  strenuous  bout  of  wing-testing 
held  firmly  to  the  side  of  the  nest  with  his  feet,  so  that  he  should  not  be  carried 
away  by  his  enthusiasm. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  when  I  next  witnessed  the  bringing  of  food  to 


92  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

the  nest,  the  victim  had  been  secured  by  the  female  Kestrel— just  as  when 
young  Sparrow  Hawks  are  almost  ready  to  fly  the  female  begins  to  hunt  and 
capture  quarry  which  the  tiny  male,  except  under  abnormal  circumstances, 
could  not  hope  to  tackle. 

For  I  saw  her  returning  from  the  marshes,  and,  as  she  drew  nearer, 
noticed  that  there  was  something  hanging  from  her  talons.  This  time  she 
came,  without  the  least  hesitation,  straight  on  to  the  nest,  and  left  with  the 
family  the  body — minus  its  head — of  a  partially  plucked  starling. 

There  is  but  little  difference  in  size  between  a  male  and  a  female  Kestrel, 
so  it  does  not  follow  that  the  male  would  be  unable  to  tackle  so  strong  a 
bird  as  a  starling,  but  he  had  certainly  in  the  past  contented  himself,  as  far 
as  my  experience  went,  with  lesser  fry. 

At  this  stage  in  their  upbringing  the  young  hawks,  with  all  of  their  principal 
feathers  in  the  blood,  require  an  amazing  amount  of  food,  and  it  may  be  that 
the  male  is  unable  to  obtain  a  sufficient  quantity. 

At  about  this  time  I  noticed  too  that  the  parent  hawks  seemed  unusually 
anxious  as  to  the  safety  of  their  young,  and  on  their  behalf  became  possessed 
of  remarkable  courage — just  as  the  Hobby,  when  her  young  were  about  to  fly, 
became  so  bold. 

On  many  occasions  I  watched  for  several  minutes  the  graceful  evolutions 
of  the  female  as  she  strove  to  drive  a  Carrion  Crow  from  the  neighbourhood 
of  her  nest.  Screaming  angrily,  she  would  mount  up  into  the  sky,  and  descend 
with  very  creditable  force  at  the  crow,  throwing  up  at  the  instant  that  she  reached 
him,  but  never,  it  seemed,  actually  striking  him  with  her  talons.  The  crow, 
noisily  voicing  his  remonstrance,  meanwhile  spent  his  time  in  avoiding  the 
stoops,  and  in  endeavouring  to  mount  up  so  high  as  to  have  the  Kestrel  at  a 
disadvantage. 

Ultimately  he  succeeded,  and  in  turn  began  to  stoop  at  the  elusive  Kestrel 
— without  much  success. 

As  the  flight — if  such  harrying  of  one  another  may  be  called  a  '  flight ' — 
progressed,  the  crow's  mate,  perhaps  seeing  her  companion  in  difficulties, 
joined  in  the  fray,  and  still  the  Kestrel,  with  two  opponents  to  deal  with  instead 
of  one,  shifted  from  their  attacks  with  the  utmost  ease.  Doubtless  the  crows 
also  had  a  family  in  the  vicinity,  for  otherwise  they  would  hardly  have  regarded 
the  presence  of  the  Kestrel  so  seriously. 

It  was  not  unusual  to  see  the  Kestrels  dash  out  from  their  trees  and  attack 
a  passing,  and  quite  innocent  Heron,  which,  uttering  the  most  undignified 
squawks  of  terror,  would  twist  and  dive  to  avoid  their  stoops. 

It  is  strange  how  the  fact  of  being  attacked — no  matter  by  whom— seems 
to  demoralize  most  birds.  One  is  often  inclined  to  wonder  why,  for  instance,  a 
London  pigeon  should  retire  in  such  fearful  haste  from  the  sparrow  which  is 
chasing  it ! 


A   MKADOW   PIPIT    FOR   THE   YOUNG 


ABOUT   THE   KESTREL  93 

A  few  days  later,  the  young  Kestrels,  having  arrived  at  the  age  when  they 
are  known  by  falconers  as  '  branchers,'  had  left  the  nest,  and  were  sitting  on 
the  branches  about  it,  spending  the  greater  part  of  the  day  in  arranging  their 
perfect  feathers  ;  taking  short  preliminary  flights  from  branch  to  branch,  and 
returning  noisily  en  masse  to  the  nest  when  any  food  was  forthcoming. 

Sometimes  one  of  them  would  carry  the  prey,  or  some  portion  of  it,  to  a 
neighbouring  branch,  where,  away  from  the  covetous  attentions  of  the  rest 
of  the  family,  he  might  enjoy  the  meal  in  peace. 

And,  yet  later  in  their  lives,  the  young  Kestrels  became  so  strong  on  the 
wing  that  they  did  not  wait  for  the  parent  to  bring  the  food  to  the  nest,  but 
took  it  from  her  as  she  sat  on  some  branch,  or  on  the  ground ;  or — when 
really  strong  on  the  wing — even  in  the  air. 

And  they  quickly  learned  to  fend  for  themselves. 

A  month  or  so  ago  I  watched  three  young  Kestrels  which  were  reared  on 
an  old  crow's  nest  some  600  yards  distant,  hovering  over  the  down-land,  and 
every  now  and  then  dropping  on  to  the  grass.  First  one  of  them  and  then 
another,  at  intervals  of  a  few  seconds,  would  point  his  wings  towards  the  sky, 
and  drop,  feet  first — on  to  an  unlucky  grasshopper. 

This  exercise  must  be  good  practice  for  the  young  Kestrels,  and 
no  doubt  puts  them  as  it  were  on  the  road  to  more  serious  accomplish- 
ment. 

The  Kestrel,  like  the  Buzzard,  has  amongst  falconers  the  reputation  of 
being  a  miserable  and  sluggish  bird  ;  and  by  comparison  with  the  Merlin  or 
the  Sparrow  Hawk  undoubtedly  is  somewhat  lethargic. 

But  that  the  Kestrel  is  capable  of  behaving  in  a  manner  belying  his  dis- 
agreeable reputation  is  perhaps  apparent  from  the  following  strange  story  in 
which  I  chanced  to  play  a  part. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  that  memorable  day  the  llth  of  November, 
1918,  when,  the  Armistice  being  responsible  for  a  holiday  amongst  the  troops 
stationed  in  England,  a  party  of  us  set  out  for  an  afternoon  with  the  elusive 
partridge. 

We  had  hardly  started  on  our  expedition  when  a  Kestrel  was  observed 
hovering  over  some  rough  grass  about  80  yards  away,  and  opinions  were 
exchanged  as  to  the  likelihood  of  shooting  a  bird  at  such  a  range,  with  the 
inevitable  result  that  one  of  us  decided  to  justify  his  confidence  in  his  gun,  and 
his  prowess,  by  having  a  bang  at  it. 

At  the  first  shot  the  target  merely  shifted  its  pitch  a  little,  but  at  the 
second  the  unfortunate  little  hawk  came  tumbling  and  screaming  to  earth. 
As  it  landed  like  a  tangled  bunch  of  feathers  amongst  the  grass,  I  was  conscious 
of  a  sudden  pang  of  remorse.  After  all,  such  a  bright-eyed,  confiding  little 
falcon,  even  though  representing  one  of  the  types  of  what  is  sometimes  regarded 
as  '  vermin,'  must  at  least  appeal  to  the  British  sportsman  as  being  a  charming 


94  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

addition  to  the  delights  of  the  country-side,  and  as  such  his  death  must  be,  in 
some  degree,  deplored. 

But  from  my  own  point  of  view,  having  perhaps  an  unusual  affection  for 
the  hawk  tribe,  I  must  admit  that  to  see  one  of  them  falling  dead  or  wounded  to 
earth  fills  me  with  something  of  the  same  feeling  that  one  experiences  when, 
amidst  the  rattle  and  roar  of  an  attack,  one  sees  a  comrade  stumble  forward  and 
collapse  in  a  shapeless  heap. 

However,  the  little  hawk  must  be  attended  to  ;  and  to  the  joyful  tune  of 
the  distant  sirens,  loudly  proclaiming  that  the  Armistice  had  been  declared,  I 
ran  forward  to  see  what  could  be  done. 

He  is  lying  between  two  tufts  of  grass  with  outstretched  wings,  and  head 
turned  so  that  he  may  look  at  me  with  his  dark,  frightened  eyes.  As  I  stretch 
forward  a  hand  to  pick  him  up,  he  crouches  lower,  and  then,  flinging  himself 
on  his  back,  prepares  with  beak  and  talons  to  fight  for  his  life.  His  wings  are 
half  opened,  and  under  each  of  them  a  smirch  of  blood  glistens  on  the  pretty 
barred  feathers. 

With  as  little  to  do  as  possible,  I  pick  him  gently  up,  and  since  no  hood  is 
available,  a  khaki-coloured  handkerchief  is  wrapped  loosely  round  his  head.  It 
is  then  suggested  by  one  of  my  kindly  comrades  that  I  should  '  put  him  out  of  his 
misery  '  without  further  delay,  and  to  save  further  argument  I  tactfully  agree 
to  do  so,  at  the  same  time  making  for  the  quarters  where,  my  friends  suppose, 
the  little  body  will  be  laid,  pending  a  funeral,  for  the  attentions  of  a  taxidermist. 

But,  strangely  enough,  there  is  little  wrong  with  the  hawk.  In  spite  of 
the  blood  on  the  wings  there  are  no  bones  broken,  and  I  decide  that,  with 
careful  handling — of  the  kind  that  is  given  to  any  newly  caught  hawk — he  will 
possibly  recover. 

For  the  next  few  days,  then,  he  is  kept  in  a  dark  place,  attached  by  jesses,1 
swivel  and  leash  to  a  low  screen  perch,  whilst  the  wing  that  drooped  most  is 
held  up  by  means  of  what,  in  the  language  of  Falconry,  is  known  as  a  '  brail,' 
and — most  important  of  all — he  is  kept  undisturbed,  and  is  regularly  and 
properly  fed. 

But,  whatever  the  cause,  he  made  rapid  progress  towards  recovery,  and  soon 
became  exceedingly  tame.  At  the  end  of  a  week  he  would  sit  unconcerned  on 
his  perch,  and  take  his  food  on  the  fist  like  any  other  partially  tamed  hawk  ; 
and  then  he  could  not  very  well  do  otherwise  than  get  used  to  the  attentions  of 
admiring  visitors,  including,  no  doubt,  the  numerous  friends  of  the  batman. 

And  during  all  this  time  the  wings  were  gaining  in  strength — one  was 
practically  sound  again,  whilst  the  other,  although  still  drooping,  had  much 
improved. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  he  was  able  to  fly  short  distances  to  the  fist  for 
his  food,  and  was  happier  sitting  upon  the  head  or  shoulder  of  one  of  his  visitors 
1  The  leather  strips  attached  to  the  legs  of  a  trained  hawk. 


ABOUT  THE   KESTREL  95 

than  upon  his  accustomed  perch.  Two  weeks  may  perhaps  seem  a  short  time 
in  which  to  make  friends  with  such  an  innately  wild  bird,  particularly  as  he  was 
a  haggard,1  and  had  got  a  number  of  the  mature  male  feathers  already  through. 

However,  so  it  was,  and  since  it  had  been  decided  that  '  Armistice,'  as  he 
was  called,  must  be  capable  of  catching  wild  quarry  before  being  liberated,  it 
was  next  necessary  to  take  him  out  in  the  open,  and  to  fly  him,  attached  to  a 
creance  or  line,  to  a  lure. 

There  was  never  any  difficulty  about  this,  for  the  moment  that  the  lure 
was  produced,  at  a  distance  of  about  35  yards,  he  made  for  it,  and  flew 
as  strongly  and  as  well  as  one  could  expect  to  see  a  lame  Kestrel  fly.  Then, 
as  the  distance  was  gradually  increased,  he,  getting  to  know  the  game,  became 
keener  ;  and,  as  his  confidence  increased,  grew  more  accustomed  to  people  around 
him  ;  and  to  cattle,  horses  and  the  like. 

Of  dogs,  however,  he  had  an  uncontrollable  fear,  and  should  one  approach 
him,  he  would  tighten  his  feathers  and  sit,  slim  and  upright,  with  staring  eyes 
until  it  was  persuaded  to  change  its  direction. 

But  even  this  aversion  was  more  or  less  overcome,  and  whatever  his  inner 
feelings  may  have  been  he  never  gave  way  to  them  except  by  sitting  very  close- 
feathered  and  rigid,  and  perhaps  gripping  the  gloved  hand  a  little  tighter  than 
usual.  At  last,  then,  the  day  arrived  when  he  was  taken  out,  freed  of  his  leash 
and  jesses,  and  flown  free  to  a  lure,  a  distance  of  about  50  yards.  Then  he 
was  encouraged  to  '  wait  on  '  for  a  short  while — Kestrels  will  not  do  so  for  long — 
and  to  stoop  to  the  lure.  By  this  time  he  was  flying  as  well  as  the  majority 
of  Kestrels  do  fly  ;  quite  as  well  as  any  of  the  trained  ones  that  I  have  ever  seen. 

But,  as  has  already  been  mentioned,  the  Kestrel  is  a  slow  flier,  and  relies 
on  the  '  drop  '  from  his  hovering  position  to  so  accelerate  his  speed  as  to  enable 
him  to  catch  winged  quarry.  And  since  a  trained  Kestrel  will  refuse  to  thus 
wait  in  the  air  until  the  quarry  is  put  up  for  it,  one  has  to  adopt  other  means  to 
impart  the  required  impetus. 

In  the  case  of  '  Armistice,' it  was  done  by  holding  the  body  of  the  hawk  in 
the  right  hand,  with  fingers  uppermost  and  his  head  projecting  from  beneath 
the  little  finger,  and  his  legs  and  tail — or  '  train  '—from  beneath  the  thumb  ; 
and  by  throwing  him,  at  the  psychological  moment,  and  with  a  '  round  arm  ' 
movement  in  the  direction  of  the  intended  quarry. 

This,  at  first,  he  was  inclined  to  resent,  but  in  time  he  grew  to  realize  that 
to  be  held  in  this  fashion  in  the  hand  meant  that  the  lure  would  soon  be  produced, 
and  that  he  would  partake  of  something  in  the  way  of  refreshment. 

Then  it  remained  only  to  throw  him  at  a  sparrow,  and  to  see  whether  he 
would  be  clever  enough  to  take  it  before  it  reached  cover  ;  and  I  must  admit 
that  his  first  attempts  were  conspicuous  failures. 

1  A  hawk  caught  in  the  mature  state  (not  taken  as  a  nestling)  is  called  by  falconers  a 
'  haggard.' 


96  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

But  at  last,  perhaps  when  he  was  feeling  in  particularly  good  form,  his 
efforts  were  crowned  with  success. 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  January  3,  1919,  when,  as  he  was  being  carried 
near  some  farm  buildings,  a  number  of  sparrows  were  noticed  scratching 
about  at  the  foot  of  some  straw  ricks. 

'  Armistice '  was  quickly  relieved  of  his  swivel  and  leash,  and  taken  in  the 
hand  in  readiness  for  a  throw.  The  sparrows  were  then  approached,  and, 
as  they  rose,  he  was  thrown  towards  them. 

On  half-opened  wings,  he  shot  like  an  arrow  into  their  midst ;  singled  out 
one  of  them,  struck  at  it,  and  succeeded  only  in  dislodging  a  bunch  of  feathers. 
As  he  swung  upwards  to  stoop  again  the  artful  sparrow  dropped  to  earth  and 
disappeared,  like  a  flash,  under  some  logs  of  wood  lying  near  by.  Again  the  eager 
'Armistice,'  waiting  anxiously  on  the  roof  of  a  cow-shed,  was  called  back  and 
taken  up.  Then,  when  all  was  ready,  the  logs  were  one  by  one  moved  away  ; 
gradually  the  pile  decreased  until  at  last  only  two  logs — side  by  side — were 
left.  One  of  them  is  gingerly  moved.  '  There  he  goes  !  '  And  the  little  hawk 
again  shoots  forward.  This  time  there  is  no  mistake,  for  he  '  binds  '  to  the 
sparrow  in  great  style,  and,  what  is  more,  does  not  attempt  to  carry  it  away,  and 
allows  himself  to  be  picked  up  without  any  fuss. 

So  it  was  that,  just  two  months  after  the  firing  of  the  shot  that  brought 
our  little  hawk  to  earth,  he  was  once  again  at  liberty,  for  we  took  off  his  jesses 
the  same  day,  and  watched  him  fly  on  to  a  limb  of  a  large  elm-tree. 

During  the  training  of  '  Armistice  '  some  curious  incidents  occurred,  in 
which  wild  Kestrels  were  involved  ;  incidents  which  tend  to  show  that  these 
birds  are  of  a  rather  jealous  disposition. 

It  happened,  as  accidents  do  happen,  that  when '  Armistice '  was  flying  to  the 
lure  one  afternoon,  he  made  a  particularly  sudden  stoop,  tore  the  lure  from 
the  end  of  the  line,  and  swung  with  it  into  the  upper  branches  of  a  beech-tree. 

Here,  indeed,  he  was  beyond  our  control,  and  we  looked  at  one  another  in 
dismay.  There  was  our  little  hawk  calmly  commencing  a  good  meal,  and 
absolutely  out  of  our  reach  ! 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  Certainly  we  could  not  lure  him  down,  or,  since 
he  was  only  half  trained,  climb  up  and  bring  him  down,  nor  could  we  throw 
stones  or  clods  of  earth  at  him,  as  that  would  only  succeed  in  thoroughly  scaring 
him. 

Then  it  was  that  a  strange  thing  happened. 

To  our  surprise  he  suddenly  set  up  a  frantic  screaming  and  almost  immedi- 
ately a  wild  female  Kestrel,  swinging  into  the  tree;  made  a  dash  at  him — or  the 
lure — and  the  three  of  them,  *  Armistice,'  wild  hawk  and  the  lure,  came  tumbling 
down  together  in  a  confused  bundle. 

Half-way  down  they  separated,  the  wild  hawk  making  her  way  towards  a 
tree  some  50  yards  away  ;  '  Armistice '  ruffled  and  obviously  nervous,  taking 


ABOUT  THE   KESTREL  97 

his  perch  on  the  handiest  branch  he  could  find,  and  the  lure,  to  our  delight, 
dropping  safely  to  earth  ;  to  be  reclaimed  and  used  a  few  minutes  later  for  the 
purpose  of  bringing  back  the  demoralized  '  Armistice.' 

But  the  most  interesting  incident  that  befell  our  little  friend  happened 
whilst  we  were  flying  him  to  the  lure  in  open  country  ;  he  was  sitting  at  the 
time  on  a  gate-post  and  we  were  about  to  call  him  off,  when  a  wild  Kestrel 
made  straight  for  him,  and,  but  for  our  violent  shouts  and  gesticulations,  would 
assuredly  have  struck  him. 

Thereupon  we  decided  to  try  an  experiment  to  discover  whether  a  wild 
hawk  could  be  caught  with  a  tame  one,  so,  calling  our  hawk  back  to  us,  we 
attached  the  swivel  and  leash  to  his  jesses,  and  fastened  him  to  a  small  stump 
in  the  middle  of  the  field. 

Hardly  had  we  gone  50  yards  away  when  the  wild  hawk  again  made  for 
him,  this  time  bowling  him  over,  and  struggling  with  him  on  the  ground, 
and  only  leaving  go  and  flying  off  as  we  ran  up  to  help  our  friend  ;  for  we  had 
not  expected  quite  such  definite  action  on  the  part  of  the  wild  hawk. 

Again  and  again  we  tried  walking  away  from  our  bird,  to  find  out  whether 
the  wild  one  would  again  attack,  and  each  time  that  we  did  so,  back  he  came  to- 
carry  on  the  assault. 

And  despite  our  efforts  to  keep  him  from  closing,  he  once  again  managed 
to  dash  in  and  knock  the  unfortunate '  Armistice '  off  his  perch,  the  pair  of  them 
this  time  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  and  indulging  in  a  rough  and 
tumble  on  the  ground. 

Now  there  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  that  if  we  had  had  a  bow-net  of  some 
kind  handy,  we  could  quite  easily  have  pulled  it  over  both  of  them,  and  so 
secured  the  stranger  as  well  as  the  bewildered  'Armistice.' 

However,  the  experiment  was  never  carried  out,  for  we  had  neither  a  bow- 
net,  nor  the  desire  for  another  hawk,  and  in  fact  it  was  shortly  afterwards  that 
'  Armistice '  was  given  his  freedom.  Let  us  hope  that  he  helped  to  rear  a  family 
during  the  past  season. 


CHAPTER    X 

Photographing    the    Crow 

WE  are  told  in  A  Catechism  of  Ornithology,  by  W.  Greathead  Lewis 
(1835),  that  '  The  Crow  resembles  the  Raven  in  shape,  appetites 
and  manners.  It  is  about  18  inches  long,  and  the  expansion  of  its 
wings  is  upwards  of  2  feet.  Its  colour  is  well  known,  and  its  habits  are  extremely- 
disgusting.' 

It  is  a  little  difficult  to  know  why  the  habits  of  this  bird  should  have  made 
such  an  unhappy  impression  upon  the  author,  unless  of  course  it  is  because  it 
feeds  upon  Carrion — a  characteristic  which,  by  the  way,  is  highly  valued  in 
hot  climates. 

Had  the  author  said  that  its  habits  are  extremely  exasperating  to  the 
seeker  after  bird  photographs,  the  writer  of  these  lines  would  have  been  in 
entire  agreement  with  him. 

We  are  inclined,  and  rightly  too,  to  regard  the  Rook  as  a  bird  of  extraordi- 
nary discernment ;  and  yet  compared  to  the  Crow  he  is  as  an  innocent  babe. 

Temperamentally  the  Crow  tribe  would  seem  to  be  the  antithesis  of  the 
Hobby,  which  behaved  in  such  a  confiding  manner  ;  for  such  birds  would  never 
dream  of  coming  near  the  nest  if  they  thought  there  was  the  least  possibility 
of  any  human  being  even  so  much  as  watching  from  a  distance  ;  while  they 
seem  to  know  by  instinct  whether  the  strange  lump  which  has  appeared  by 
the  nest  is  an  empty  box  or  a  camera — just  as  they  know  whether  a  dead 
rabbit  or  Mallard  has  fallen  unknown  to  his  human  persecutors,  or  whether 
it  has  been  arranged  close  to  a  cunningly  hidden  trap. 

It  is  perhaps  not  generally  known  what  difference  exists  between  the  Crow 
and  the  Rook — and  why  a  flock  of  Rooks  is  often  described  as  a  flock  of 
Crows. 

The  main  difference  between  the  mature  Rook  and  the  Crow  has  already 
been  explained  and  although  it  is  not  easy  to  identify  either  of  them  if  it  should 
be  some  distance  away,  one  can  usually  tell  to  which  species  it  belongs  by  the 
surroundings,  the  location  of  the  nest — if  there  should  be  one — by  the  move- 
ments of  the  bird,  and,  particularly,  by  its  voice.  No  one,  I  think,  who  has 
heard  the  wild,  hollow  call  of  the  Crow,  which  is  usually  repeated  three  times, 

99 


100  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE  TOPS 

would  be  likely  to  confuse  it  with  the  higher-pitched  and  more  amiable  cry 
of  the  Rook  ;  and  a  Crow  is,  by  comparison,  such  a  solitary  bird. 

But  even  the  Crow  is  not  always  solitary  ;  and  it  is  interesting  to  note 
how,  in  the  summer  evenings,  the  Crows  of  the  neighbourhood  will  gather 
together  for  the  purpose,  it  would  seem,  of  enjoying  the  raptures  of  the  evening 

flight. 

Sometimes  as  many  as  twenty  or  more,  where  Crows  are  common,  will 
be  in  the  air  at  once,  playfully  stooping  at  one  another,  throwing  high  up  into 
the  air,  or  corkscrew  diving  towards  the  earth.  Gamekeepers  sometimes 
take  advantage  of  their  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  Crows  indulge  in  these 
flights,  and  if  one  Crow  should  fall  to  the  gun,  the  fate  of  the  remainder 
is  usually  sealed.  For  the  Crow,  although  so  exceedingly  wary,  is,  like  his 
cousin  the  Rook,  very  curious  regarding  the  unaccountable  :  and  on  seeing 
one  of  the  company  crumple  up  in  the  air,  the  remainder  usually  close  in  to 
circle  above  the  spot  where  the  battered  body  is  lying,  and  try  to  discover 
the  cause  of  the  catastrophe. 

The  Crow  of  course  is  a  very  much  persecuted  bird,  and  it  is  amazing 
to  find  how,  with  every  man's  hand  against  him,  he  contrives  to  exist  in  such 
numbers.  His  life  must  be  one  long  struggle  to  avoid  the  man  with  the  gun, 
the  invisible  trap,  and  the  poisoned  meat — and  he  would  probably  have  been 
exterminated  by  now  were  it  not  for  the  brains  with  which  Providence  has 
blessed  him. 

The  number  of  Crows'  eggs  constituting  a  clutch  seems  not  to  vary  nearly 
so  much  as  in  the  case  of  the  Rook,  for  while  the  latter  almost  invariably 
rears  from  one  to  six  young  ones,  the  Crow's  nest  almost  invariably  holds 
either  four  or  five. 

As  a  rule  the  nest  is  not  placed  so  high  in  the  tree  as  the  Rook's  generally 
is  ;  for  the  Crow  seems  to  like  rather  to  construct  his  home  at  some  point 
where  it  is  less  conspicuous  than  if  it  were  amongst  the  topmost  twigs,  although 
it  is,  nevertheless,  generally  at  a  very  considerable  height,  and  almost  always 
in  such  a  position  as  to  allow  the  sitting  bird  a  good  view  of  the  surrounding 
country. 

A  Crow's  nest  is  an  unusually  strongly  built  affair,  and  has  as  its  foundation 
a  collection  of  interlaced  sticks,  many  of  which  are  considerably  larger  than 
an  ordinary  pencil  in  circumference,  and  sometimes  measure  a  couple  of  feet 
in  length.  Between  these,  and  the  inner  lining  of  wads  of  bullock's  hair 
and  wool,  is  a  thick  layer  of  mud,  or  cow-dung  :  which,  placed  in  position 
in  the  damp  state,  ultimately  dries  and  forms  a  firm  cup  that  is  not  easily 
penetrated  ;  which  accounts  for  the  fact  that  a  Crow  not  infrequently  flies 
unscathed  from  a  nest  at  which  a  charge  of  shot  has  been  fired  from  below. 

I  have,  during  the  last  two  seasons,  discovered  a  couple  of  Crows'  nests 
which  pointed  to  the  fact  that  they  had  been  constructed  by  birds  of  certain 


A    CROWS    STRANGE 
NEST  MATERIALS 


PHOTOGRAPHING  THE  CROW  101 

artistic  tendencies — or  birds  that  wished  to  be  reminded  during  their  inactive 
hours,  of  past  feasts.  For  the  foundations  were  largely  composed  of  the  bones 
of  departed  birds  and  animals.  One  of  them  included  the  vertebrae  of  two 
rabbits,  together  with  the  skulls,  which  had  become  disconnected  ;  the  greater 
part  of  two  moorhens'  skeletons,  with  the  flight  feathers  still  intact;  the  remains 
of  several  pheasants,  including  the  breast  bones  and  spurs ;  and  a  few  bones  of 
a  red-legged  partridge.  In  addition  to  this  collection  were  quantities  of  the 
string  which  is  used  for  tying  sheep  gates  together,  some  cigarette  packets, 
and  what  was  once  a  lady's  handkerchief.  An  accompanying  photograph  of 
some  of  the  materials  used  in  the  construction  of  the  other  nest  suggests  that 
the  Crows  were  of  a  somewhat  literary  turn  of  mind,  or  that  they  liked  to  see 
the  dull  monotony  of  the  home  relieved  by  touches  of  a  lighter  shade. 

The  Crow's  nest  which  we  selected  for  photographic  purposes  from  the 
many  that  we  discovered  in  the  district,  was  built  in  the  upper  branches  of 
one  of  a  row  of  elm-trees,  overlooking  the  marshes  on  one  side,  and  a  wide 
expanse  of  arable  land  which  stretched  away  to  the  uplands  on  the  other,  so 
that  to  approach  unseen  to  within  less  than  half  a  mile  of  the  place  was  impos- 
sible. It  might  at  first  seem  strange  that  a  nest  in  such  a  situation  should 
have  been  chosen,  particularly  as  the  height  at  which  it  was  built  made  an 
unusual  amount  of  climbing  necessary.  But  it  was  selected  for  two  reasons : 
firstly,  because  it  was  eminently  satisfactorily  placed  from  the  pictorial  point 
of  view — incidentally  a  most  important  reason ;  and  secondly  because  it  was 
in  a  position,  and  at  an  elevation,  that  could  not  be  reached  by  the  ordinary 
school,  or  farm,  boy. 

When  the  first  stage  of  the  '  imitation  camera,'  consisting  of  a  small  piece 
of  sacking  camouflaged  with  leaves,  was  first  tied  in  position,  the  Crows  really 
seemed  as  though  they  had  no  further  interest  in  their  nest,  for,  although  they 
sat  composedly  on  the  topmost  branch  of  a  dead  elm  close  by,  they  never 
even  glanced  in  its  direction. 

From  behind  a  hedge  some  half-mile  away  we  watched  them  through 
glasses,  and  as  we  had  fully  expected  to  see  them  go  on  to  the  nest  at  the  end 
of,  say,  half  an  hour,  we  felt  somewhat  disappointed  when,  at  the  end  of  an 
hour  and  a  half,  they  were  still  amusing  themselves  on  the  top  of  the  dead  elm  ! 
As  the  sacking  which  had  been  left  in  position  was  not  larger  than  an 
ordinary  cap  rolled  up,  and  was  well  garnished  with  elm  leaves,  we  felt  dubious 
as  to  whether  we  should  ever  succeed  in  getting  a  photograph— and  then 
the  awful  fear  occurred  to  us,  that  the  leaves  on  the  roll  of  sacking  would 
wither  before  the  Crow  found  courage  to  return  to  the  nest,  and  thus  make 
the  cause  of  her  fears  more  trap-like  than  ever. 

However,  on  our  next  visit  the  Crows  seemed  to  be  quite  reconciled  to 
the  strange  innovation,  and  from  a  distance  we  watched  them  going  to  and 
from  the  nest. 


102  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

They  invariably  approached  it  by  flying  within  a  few  feet  of  the  ground 
until  close  to  its  foot,  and  then  swinging  suddenly  up  and  on  to  some  convenient 
branch.  And  they  would  leave  it  in  a  manner  characteristic  of  Crows— that 
is  by  literally  dropping  from  the  side  of  the  nest  until  within  a  short  distance 
of  the  ground,  and  going  away  with  wing  tips  almost  brushing  the  turf. 

So  the  size  of  the  dummy  camera  was  daily  increased  until,  at  last,  the 
thing  was  so  bulky  as  to  suggest  a  canvas  bolster  lodged  in  the  tree.  And  of 
this  the  Crows,  having  overcome  their  first  feelings  of  suspicion,  ultimately 
took  not  the  least  notice.  On  the  6th  of  June  it  was  decided  that  an  attempt 
should  be  made  to  secure  some  photographs  of  the  '  home  life  of  the  Crow.' 

And  as  we  approached  the  place  on  the  morning  of  the  fateful  day,  we  were 
delighted  to  see  that  both  of  the  Crows  were  making  frequent  and  confident 
visits  to  their  young,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  a  piece  of  loose  sacking  hung 
from  the  dummy  camera  and  flapped  idly  in  the  breeze. 

Really  things  looked  most  promising — perhaps  after  all  the  Crow  would 
not  be  so  difficult  a  bird  to  outwit.  So  we  silently  thought  as  we  trudged 
towards  the  row  of  elms,  and  at  length  laid  our  impedimenta  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree. 

As  usual  I  carried  the  camera  up  with  me — also  the  little  platform  for  it — 
and  the  ball  of  string  ;  and  again,  as  usual,  things  for  a  while  went  hopelessly 
wrong.  When  I  attempted  to  drop  the  ball  of  string,  it  caught  in  a  branch 
half-way  down  the  tree,  which  necessitated  my  climbing  down  to  set  it 
free ;  then  having  at  last  fixed  the  camera,  I  found  that  a  projecting  branch 
prevented  the  focusing  arrangements  from  working  properly,  and  lastly  the 
screws  which  I  had  brought  for  the  purpose  of  fixing  the  platform  in  position 
were  too  short,  and  refused  to  hold  in  the  wood  until  the  whole  thing  had  been 
taken  down,  and  the  bark  pared  off. 

But  at  last  everything  seemed  to  be  in  readiness,  the  Crow's  nest  was 
focused,  and  the  string  arranged  as  in  the  case  of  the  Spotted  Woodpecker, 
through  a  series  of  '  screw-eyes '  to  the  hiding-place ;  which  in  the  meantime  my 
companion  had  constructed. 

It  was  in  every  way  but  one  an  excellent  hide — very  much  like  the  worst 
type  of  dug-out— its  one  drawback  being  that  it  was  not  nearly  large  enough  to 
conveniently  hold  a  human  being — and  since  my  companion  was  an  enormous 
man,  it  seemed  strange  that  he  should  not  have  made  it  on  a  larger  scale. 

However,  that  the  Crows,  wherever  they  might  settle,  could  never  see 
into  its  interior  was  a  very  distinct  advantage,  as  was  the  fact  that  from  the 
inside  of  it  an  excellent  view  of  the  nest  could  be  obtained. 

Past  experiences  have  convinced  me  that  more  than  two  people  are  really 
necessary  on  a  Crow  photography  expedition,  at  least  where  there  is  no  cover, 
for  the  Crow,  who  of  course  watches  everything  from  afar,  is  not  satisfied  if, 
having  seen  two  people  approach  a  place,  he  sees  only  one  go  away  from  it. 


PHOTOGRAPHING  THE  CROW  103 

When  there  are  three  or  more  people,  the  absence  of  one  of  them  on  their  depar- 
ture is  not  so  likely  to  occur  to  the  Crow  ;  for  we  cannot  suppose  that  the 
Crow  literally  counts,  but  rather  that  the  idea  of  greater  or  lesser  numbers 
makes  some  sort  of  mental  impression. 

But  since,  on  this  occasion,  there  were  but  two  of  us  to  carry  out  the  scheme, 
it  was  decided  that  I  should  wait  in  the  hide  for  the  Crow  to  go  on  to  her  nest, 
and  that  my  companion  should  endeavour  to  make  himself  as  much  like  two 
people  as  possible  by  taking  off  his  coat  and  carrying  it  at  arm's  length,  in  as 
ostentatious  a  manner  as  possible. 

So  I  crawled  into  the  little  dug-out,  and  having  been  duly  covered  in, 
heard  my  companion  say,  *  Well,  I'll  go  now  :  if  you're  all  right.'  I  replied  that 
at  present  I  was  sufficiently  comfortable,  but  that  I  expected  an  attack  of 
cramp  during  the  next  hour.  A  little  later,  on  peeping  through  a  little  spy- 
hole, I  saw  a  large  figure,  which,  as  it  receded  into  the  distance,  frantically 
waved  its  coat  in  its  outstretched  right  hand. 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  this  ruse  or  not,  it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  within 
an  hour  one  of  the  Crows  had  returned  to  the  branch  at  the  top  of  the  dead 
elm.  I  am  doubtful  as  to  whether  I  should  have  known  that  she  had  taken 
up  this  position,  had  it  not  been  for  the  '  woof- woof '  of  her  wings  as  she  passed, 
quite  low  down,  over  my  hiding-place,  before  swinging  up  on  fully  extended 
wings  to  her  favourite  perch. 

From  the  hiding-place  I  had  an  extraordinarily  good  view  of  her,  as  she 
sat  with  uplifted  head,  watching  for  any  unusual  movement.  What  a  magnifi- 
cent bird.  With  her  powerful  curved  beak,  thick  glossy  neck,  and  glistening 
sides,  she  looked  exactly  like  a  miniature  Raven. 

And  what  an  unconscionably  long  time  she  spent  in  gazing  about  her, 
preening  her  flight  feathers  and  stropping  her  great  beak  !  As  might  be 
supposed,  the  act  of  gazing  upwards  from  such  cramped  quarters  brought  on 
all  too  soon  an  aching  of  the  neck  which  became  most  trying.  But  at  length, 
and  just  when  the  neck-aching  had  grown  to  be  almost  unbearable,  the  Crow, 
without  the  least  warning,  suddenly  planed  down  on  half-closed  wings  to  within 
6  feet  of  the  ground,  and  sneaked — if  flying  at  such  an  altitude  may  be  so 
described — towards  the  foot  of  her  own  tree.  Then  of  a  sudden  she  swung 
upwards,  and  landed  with  incredible  ease  on  the  edge  of  her  nest,  where  for 
a  few  moments  she  remained,  immovable  before  attending  to  her  wheezing 
family. 

I  had  previously  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  not  attempt  an  exposure 
until  I  saw  that  she  was  actually  feeding  the  young,  at  which  time,  one  would 
suppose,  she  would  be  too  intent  on  her  duties  to  notice  any  possible  movement 
of  the  string.  I,  however,  had  under-estimated  the  wariness  of  my  subject, 
for  as  I  commenced  to  tighten  the  string,  I  saw  her  head  shoot  up — alert, 
suspicious — and  in  a  flash  she  had  gone. 


104  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

How  sadly  I  wished  that  the  string  had  not  been  so  slack  !  In  any  case 
it  must  be  tighter  next  time,  and  I  straightway  gathered  in  as  much  as  I  dared 
without  releasing  the  shutter,  and  once  more  awaited  the  coming  of  the  Crow. 

And  at  last  once  again  she  came  on  to  the  dead  elm  :  once  again  she 
swung  on  to  the  nest  to  face  the  yawning  youngsters,  and  once  again  the  string 
was  pulled  in  vain. 

So  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  crawl  out  of  the  hiding-place,  and  climb 
up  the  camera  tree  to  disentangle  the  string  ;  and  incidentally  to  reset  the 
shutter  which  had  acted  after  the  Crow  had  left  the  nest.  And  then  to  enter 
the  dug-out  once  more. 

But  here  a  fresh  difficulty  presented  itself,  for  soaring  high  in  the  air  above 
were  both  of  the  Crows,  intently  watching  everything  that  was  going  on  below. 

I  realized  that  it  would  be  hopeless  to  walk  openly,  and  enter  the  hide 
whilst  the  Crows  were  thus  looking  on  ;  and  conceived  the  bright  idea  of  endeav- 
ouring to  outwit  them  by  an  ingenious  subterfuge. 

It  happened  that  the  hiding-place  was  constructed  in  a  ditch  at  the  corner 
of  a  field  of  growing  oats,  and  I  thought  that,  if  I  waited  until  the  Crows  had 
settled — as  they  generally  did — on  the  distant  marshes,  I  might  quite  well 
crawl  on  hands  and  knees  through  the  oats,  and  thus  enter  the  hide  without 
being  seen. 

And  in  due  course,  the  Crows  having  settled  in  the  desired  manner,  I 
commenced  my  arduous  and — owing  to  the  presence  of  numerous  thistles — 
painful  journey  through  the  oat-field.  At  last  I  had  reached  the  edge  of  the 
oats,  and  only  had  to  cross  a  yard  or  so  of  rough  grass  before  I  should  be  safely 
in  the  hide  again. 

And  as  I  crossed  the  small  piece  of  comparatively  open  country,  I  chanced 
to  glance  sideways  to  see  both  of  the  Crows  seated  on  a  couple  of  tall  poles  on 
the  marshes,  gazing  suspiciously  at  my  amateurish  antics  ! 

So,  feeling  thoroughly  annoyed — and  very  stupid — I  set  out  in  search  of 
my  companion — only  to  find  that  he  had  completely  vanished. 

And  after  a  good  tramp  around  the  country  in  search  of  him,  I  eventually 
enrolled  the  services  of  a  shepherd,  who  promised  to  see  me  safely  into  the 
hiding-place,  and  then  to  withdraw  as  noisily  as  possible. 

And  when  he  had  gone,  I  pondered  over  my  chances  of  being  successful 
this  time.  The  string  was  now  in  a  position  where  it  could  not  be  seen  from 
the  nest — not  even  by  the  Crow.  My  entrance  into  the  hide  had  been  cleverly 
executed  ;  the  Crows  would  surely  soon  go  on  to  the  nest  to  feed,  and  the 
light  was  unusually  good. 

As  I  thought  over  these  things,  one  of  the  Crows  returned  to  the  top  of 
the  dead  elm,  and  for  the  first  time  during  this  trying  day,  I  felt  quite  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  making  an  exposure  so  soon. 

But  an  instant  later  my  heart  sank  within  me.     The  kindly  shepherd  had 


SUSPICION  ! 


PHOTOGRAPHING  THE   CROW  105 

left  his  sheep  in  the  field  across  which  my  string  ran  to  the  foot  of  the  camera 
tree,  and  even  as  I  looked  I  saw  them  slowly  advancing  towards  it. 

And  in  a  few  moments,  as  they  meandered  along,  their  feet  became  entangled 
in  it,  an  unsolicited  exposure  was  made,  and  the  string  was  broken  ! 

I  now  decided  to  abandon  the  idea  of  Crow  photography  for  the  day,  and 
having  re-arranged  things,  set  out  in  search  of  my  companion.  At  last  I  found 
him  comfortably  reclining  in  the  shade  of  a  spreading  oak,  and  acquainted 
him  with  my  doleful  news. 

He  was  most  sympathetic,  and  even  suggested  that  on  the  following  day 
he  would  like  to  take  a  turn  in  the  hiding-place  and  see  if  he  could  not  do 
better.  I  ventured  to  suggest,  as  I  thoughtfully  regarded  his  enormous  frame, 
for  he  weighed  some  15  stone,  that  he  might  perhaps  find  the  place  a  little  on 
the  small  side.  '  Oh,  that'll  be  all  right,'  he  answered  cheerfully ;  '  I  shall 
be  comfortable  enough.' 

And  so  it  was  arranged  that,  on  the  following  day,  he  should  lie  in  wait 
and  try  for  a  photograph  of  the  Crow. 

And  in  due  course  we  arrived  on  the  scene  of  action  :  the  camera  was 
prepared,  the  string  arranged,  and  everything  in  readiness  for  the  great 
effort. 

'  You  are  sure  you  can  get  in  ?  '  I  asked  my  friend  as  we  stood  at  the 
entrance  of  the  hide. 

'  Of  course  I  can,'  he  replied,  and  therewith  sank  on  to  his  hands  and 
knees  with  the  idea  of  proving  his  statement. 

His  head  and  shoulders  slowly  disappeared  into  the  little  opening,  while 
his  back  parts — which  he  seemed  less  able  to  control — almost  lifted  the  entire 
roof  from  its  position  ;  which  reminded  me  of  the  manner  in  which  packs 
used  to  catch  against  the  roofs  of  low  dug-outs  in  France. 

But  at  last  he  was  safely  inside,  and  thoroughly  covered  in. 

'  All  right  ?  '    I  asked. 

'  Yes,  thanks,'  he  replied. 

'  Got  the  string  ?  ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Everything  in  order  ?  ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Can  you  see  the  nest  ?  ' 

4  No.'  " 

4  Well,  how  the  dickens  will  you  know  when  to  pull  the  string  ?  ' 

However,  having  managed  to  discern  the  nest,  and  feeling  that  everything 
was  really  in  readiness  this  time,  he  told  me  that  I  could  go  away.  '  All  right,' 
I  said,  '  I'm  going  now.  Don't  forget :  if  the  Crow  comes  on  to  the  nest— Pull 
the  string.' 

What  happened  next  I  do  not  know— except  that  when  the  Crow  did 


106  WILD   LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

ultimately  visit  the  nest  he  pulled  the  string  so  hard  that  the  shutter  became 
detached  from  the  front  of  the  lens !  ! 

But  in  the  end,  and  after  two  weeks  of  unsuccessful  efforts,  one  photograph, 
and  one  only,  of  the  Crow  at  her  nest  was  secured,  which  is  reproduced  among 
these  pages. 

Young  Crows  are  fed  by  the  old  ones  for  some  time  after  they  are  able 
to  fly,  and  may  be  seen  following  with  fluttering  wings  in  the  wake  of  the 
parent  as  he — or  she — struts  here  and  there  on  the  look  out  for  suitable  food. 

The  Crow,  like  the  Rook,  feeds  largely  upon  the  larvae  of  various  insects  ; 
but  is  also  very  partial  to  the  flesh  of  dead  animals,  or  birds,  which  it  may 
find  lying  in  an  open  place,  such  as  the  middle  of  a  marsh,  and  invariably  first 
extracts  and  swallows  the  eye  which  is  uppermost,  before  troubling  to  get  at 
any  other  more  succulent  portion  ! 

The  photograph  of  the  young  Crow,  which  also  appears  in  these  pages, 
was  taken  in  the  Doone  country,  and  shows  a  nest  which  was  built  in  quite 
a  low  hawthorn-tree  growing  from  the  side  of  a  steep  and  rocky  bank. 

When  we  found  the  nest  it  contained  four  young  Crows,  which,  unhappily 
for  us,  were  almost  ready  to  fly. 

Had  the  nest  belonged  to  any  other  bird,  we  should,  no  doubt,  have  ob- 
tained some  unusually  pictorial  results,  showing  the  old  bird  and  her  family  ; 
but  since  it  was  a  Crow,  we  were  doomed  to  disappointment.  For  the  parent 
birds,  by  calling  to  the  young  from  a  distance,  induced  them  to  attempt  the 
first  flight,  and  it  was  by  good  luck  rather  than  judgment  that  we  succeeded 
in  getting  a  picture  of  the  last  of  the  young  ones  a  few  moments  before  he 
too  went  off  into  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XI 

Concerning    a    Sparrow     Hawk     Family 

ONE  has  only  to  see  a  Sparrow  Hawk  at  really  close  quarters  to  know, 
by  its  expression,  the  shape  and  size  of  its  feet  and  talons,  and  the 
threatening  way  in  which  it  fixes  its  cold  yellow  eyes  on  to  anything  in 
the  way  of  food,  that  it  is  a  bird  of  indomitable  spirit— a  creature  of  wild 
impulse  and  inexorable  purpose. 

There  is,  to  me,  something  particularly  dramatic  about  the  pose  of  a 
Sparrow  Hawk  when  out  for  blood — particularly  a  female — as  hunching  her 
shoulders  she  glares  around  with  slow  moving  head  and  eyes  that  literally 
squint  with  eager  expectancy. 

And  with  such  lightning  speed  does  she — as  it  were — '  dive  '  after  any 
unsuspecting  quarry,  and  snatch  at  it  with  her  needle-sharp  talons,  that  the 
business  of  securing  the  victim  is  finished  and  done  with  before  the  amazed 
onlooker  has  clearly  realized  what  is  taking  place. 

But  should  this  first  impulsive  dash  prove  unsuccessful,  the  Sparrow  Hawk 
does  not,  like  the  Merlin,  persevere  in  the  hunt  with  the  idea  of  wearing  down 
the  quarry  ;  but  swings  away  either  to  take  perch  upon  some  convenient 
bough  or  leisurely  to  continue  her  flight.  Should  she  adopt  the  latter  alterna- 
tive, she  keeps  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  ground,  swerving  just  sufficiently  to 
avoid  any  obstacles  that  she  may  encounter,  or  surmounting  them  with  the 
careless  ease  that  is  typical  of  the  short -winged  hawks  :  though  it  is  a  bad  day 
for  the  blackbird  or  thrush,  intent  on  turning  over  the  leaves  in  search  of  food, 
who  is  thus  surprised  by  the  dreaded  form. 

Owing  to  this  habit  of  gliding  over  the  ground,  and  pouncing  upon  some 
victim,  the  Sparrow  Hawk  is  quite  frequently  caught  in  the  nets  of  bird  catchers, 
as  she  makes  for  one  of  the  decoy  birds.  It  is,  of  course,  the  aim  of  the  man  at 
the  end  of  the  line  to  close  the  net  at  the  exact  moment  that  the  hawk  strikes, 
and  thus  prevent  further  visits  of  a  like  nature.  But  he  who  can  thus  catch  a 
Sparrow  Hawk  in  the  act  of  striking  at  its  quarry  must  indeed  be  an  expert, 
for  the  speed  with  which  a  Sparrow  Hawk  dashes  at  its  quarry  must  really  be 
seen  to  be  understood. 

107 


108  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

And  it  is  upon  this  sudden  onslaught  that  the  Sparrow  Hawk  relies  for  the 
capture  of  her  food.  So  intent  is  she  on  the  business  that  she  has  frequently 
been  known  to  dash  against— or  through— a  window  in  her  efforts  to  secure 
some  bird  on  the  other  side.  To  my  own  knowledge  a  Sparrow  Hawk  a  few 
years  ago  crashed  against  a  cage,  and  held  onto  its  wires  in  her  anxiety  to  gain 
possession  of  the  canary  inside  ! 

One  cannot,  consequently,  compare  the  speed  of  a  Merlin,  or  Hobby,  with 
that  of  a  Sparrow  Hawk,  for  both  of  the  former  will  think  little  of  travelling  the 
best  part  of  a  mile  or  more  in  the  process  of  wearing  down  the  victim,  whereas, 
as  has  been  explained,  the  Sparrow  Hawk's  dash  is  a  short-lived  effort,  and  is 
either  at  once  a  success  or  a  failure.  Its  method  of  hunting  is,  in  fact,  entirely 
different  from  any  other  of  the  resident  British  hawks. 

In  general  appearance,  too,  the  Sparrow  Hawk  differs  very  widely  from  the 
others.  In  the  first  place  it  belongs  to  the  short-winged  hawks,  that  is  those 
hawks  whose  folded  wings  do  not  extend  for  more  than  about  half  the  length 
of  the  tail ;  then  it  has  deep-set,  yellow  eyes,  that  tend  to  add  to  its  already 
ferocious  appearance,  and  particularly  long  legs,  which  are  of  the  utmost  value 
in  enabling  it  to  snatch  up  quarry  even  after  the  latter  has  dived  into  thick 
cover. 

There  is  also  a  greater  difference  in  size  between  the  male,  and  female 
Sparrow  Hawk  than  is  the  case  with  the  others  ;  and,  compared  to  his  enor- 
mous and  more  ferocious-looking  wife,  the  little  male  is  indeed  an  insignificant, 
meek  little  man,  who  looks  as  though  he  ought  to  belong  to  another  species 
altogether. 

A  good  deal  of  controversy  has  arisen  as  to  whether  the  Sparrow  Hawk 
constructs  a  nest  of  its  own,  or  whether  it  utilizes  the  disused  one  of  some  other 
bird.  I  have  in  the  course  of  many  seasons  discovered  some  dozens  of  Sparrow 
Hawks'  nests,  which,  with  the  exception  of  three  only,  had  all  been  built 
entirely  by  the  birds  themselves ;  in  fact,  I  have  often  discovered  a  partially 
constructed  Sparrow  Hawk's  nest  which  I  have  identified  directly,  and  which 
has  ultimately  held  a  clutch  of  Sparrow  Hawk's  eggs. 

As  to  the  three  exceptions,  two  of  them  were  properly  constructed  Sparrow 
Hawk's  nests,  which  had  as  their  foundation  the  remains  of  an  old  squirrel's 
drey,  and  the  other  was  a  more  slipshod  affair,  built  on  the  remains  of  a  several 
years'  old  crow's  nest. 

The  majority  of  the  Sparrow  Hawks'  nests  which  I  have  known  have  been 
in  fir  or  larch  trees,  but  in  many  districts,  including  that  in  which  the  accom- 
panying photographs  were  taken,  they  are  invariably  built  in  deciduous  trees 
— possibly  because  the  other  kind  are  not  available. 

The  birds  seem  to  be  fond  of  using  the  flexible  ends  of  larch  branches  as  a 
foundation  for  the  nest,  and  small  pieces  of  the  bark  of  pine-trees  as  an  inner 
lining  ;  though  where  these  are  not  to  be  obtained  they  have  to  use  as  a  founda- 


THE   SPARROW-HAWK 


THE   FAMILY   LINK-UP 
FOR  THE   MEAL— 


AT   A   LATER   STAGE 
THEY   FEED  THEMSELVES 


CONCERNING  A   SPARROW  HAWK   FAMILY         109 

tion  the  less  artistic  sticks  that  are  lying  about :  and,  as  a  lining,  either  small 
twigs  or  green  leaves. 

Then  the  food  of  the  Sparrow  Hawk— like  that  of  the  Little  Owl  and  the 
Kestrel — has  been  the  cause  of  yet  further  agitation.  The  grievance  being, 
as  in  the  case  of  the  others,  that  it  destroys  game  birds. 

And  we  may  as  well  admit  at  once  that  the  Sparrow  Hawk  is  the  one 
common  bird  of  prey  of  these  islands  which  is  able  to  kill,  not  only  quite 
small  pheasants  or  partridges,  but  birds  which  are  considerably  heavier  than 
itself.  For,  unlike  the  Kestrel  and  the  Little  Owl,  the  Sparrow  Hawk  does  not 
usually  betray  its  presence  until  it  is  in  the  act  of  making  the  final  dash.  And, 
in  addition,  it  is  courageous  enough  to  attack  young  pheasants  that  are  assuming 
their  mature  plumage,  and  strong  enough  to  carry  a  plucked  bird  as  large  as  a 
wood-pigeon  to  its  nest. 

Most  of  the  Sparrow  Hawks'  nests  which  I  have  examined  after  the  young 
have  flown  have  contained  the  bones  of  such  birds  as  doves,  blackbirds,  thrushes, 
sparrows,  and  other  small  fry  ;  whilst  I  have  on  rare  occasions  found  the  remains 
of  jay,  cuckoo,  night -jar,  wood-pigeon,  and  green  woodpecker. 

Two  nests  that  I  have  in  mind,  however,  were  literally  piled  up  with  the 
bones  of  defunct  young  pheasants — and  it  would  seem  that  the  parent  hawk, 
having  discovered  that  it  was  possible  to  overcome  such  large  and  abundant 
fowl,  had  acquired  the  habit  of  making  a  dead  set  at  them.  It  is  significant 
that  both  of  these  nests  were  in  the  midst  of  very  large  preserves,  where  there 
were  not  many  bushes,  and  where  in  consequence  there  was  a  shortage  of  small 
birds.  For  the  Sparrow  Hawk  does  not  select  a  young  game  bird,  if  there  are 
blackbirds,  starlings,  or  some  lesser  fry  to  be  had.  It  will,  however,  acquire 
the  habit  of  taking  them  if  these  others  are  not  in  sufficient  quantities.  That 
at  least  is  what  my  own  experience  has  taught  me.  The  inference  that  Sparrow 
Hawks  hunt  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood  of  the  nest  might  be  drawn 
from  the  foregoing  remarks,  although  it  is  far  from  my  intention  to  suggest 
that  such  actually  is  the  case.  As  a  matter  of  fact  I  have  never  yet  seen  or 
heard  a  bird  caught  by  a  Sparrow  Hawk  anywhere  in  the  close  vicinity  of  the 
nest ;  though  I  have  on  many  occasions  seen  the  male  approaching  the  nesting 
wood  from  a  distance  with  a  bird  in  his  talons,  and  believe  that  hawks  invariably 
prefer  to  hunt  at  some  little  distance  from  the  home. 

During  the  time  that  the  nest  is  undergoing  construction,  the  Sparrow 
Hawks  may  often  be  seen  soaring  at  a  considerable  height— particularly  when 
the  sun  is  shining — and,  up  to  the  time  when  the  female  is  sitting,  they  usually 
spend  part  of  each  day  in  thus  taking  the  air.  Sometimes  a  pair  will  be  joined 
by  a  third— and  the  three  of  them  will  circle  above  the  trees  in  perfect  amity  : 
in  fact  it  is  by  seeing  the  hawks  thus  soaring  that  one  may  often  discover  their 
nest. 

I  have  always  had  such  a  profound  admiration  for  the  Sparrow  Hawk 


110  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

that  I  had  hoped  for  many  years  to  have  the  opportunity  of  watching— and 
perhaps  photographing— the  growth  of  a  family  of  them  from  the  time  that  they 
emerged  from  the  egg  until  the  day  that  they  left  the  nest. 

Not  until  the  summer  of  this  year  of  1921  was  I  able  to  fulfil  my  ambition. 
I  should  not  even  then  have  been  able  to  do  so  had  it  not  been  for  the 
kindness  of  the  proprietor  of  the  estate  in  agreeing  that  the  hawks  should 
not  be  molested. 

Towards  the  end  of  May  the  nest,  Wjhich  was  built  in  an  oak-tree,  held  six 
beautifully  blotched  eggs,  that  I  judged  were  only  slightly  set.  I  was  somewhat 
surprised  to  find  that  this  was  the  case,  as  the  bird  had  sat  very  tightly  when  I 
approached  the  tree,  and  I  had  rather  expected  to  find  that  the  nest  contained 
young. 

It  was  not  until  June  12  that  the  eggs  were  '  chipping,'  by  which  time  the 
observation  post  was  nearing  completion,  and  it  was  on  that  day,  whilst  inside 
it  arranging  the  finishing  touches,  that  I  first  saw  the  female  Sparrow  Hawk 
at  close  quarters. 

The  building  of  the  observation  post,  which  was  11  feet  from  the  hawk's 
nest,  had,  of  course,  covered  quite  a  long  period,  and  until  this  particular  day 
I  had  never  remained  in  it  for  very  long,  in  case  the  hawk  should  return  to  her 
nest  whilst  I  was  inside,  for  my  sudden  appearance  would  no  doubt  have 
scared  her  very  considerably.  On  this  occasion,  however,  I  had  decided  to 
finish  the  job,  and  thinking  that  the  hawk  might  return  before  I  had  done  so, 
I  had  taken  the  precaution  of  tying  to  the  end  of  the  rope  which  I  used  for 
climbing  to  the  observation  post  a  couple  of  branches  ;  so  that,  by  jerking 
the  rope  up  and  down,  the  branches  would  clatter  on  the  ground  and  the  hawk, 
thinking  that  some  one  was  walking  under  the  trees,  would  leave  the  nest,  and 
so  give  me  the  opportunity  of  decamping  unnoticed. 

But  although  I  had  half  expected  that  she  might  return,  I  experienced 
quite  a  shock  when,  on  peeping  through  the  observation  hole  on  to  the  nest,  I 
saw  that  she  was  preparing  to  cover  the  eggs  !  She  really  was  a  magnificent 
creature,  and,  judging  by  the  extraordinary  blue  of  her  back,  she  must  have  been 
very  old ;  in  fact  she  was  almost  as  blue  as  the  male,  who  later  on  occasionally 
visited  the  nest,  and  seemed  by  her  side  to  be  quite  a  pigmy  hawk.  Still, 
he  was  in  beautiful  order,  and  had  brighter  cheeks,  breast,  and  thigh  tufts  than 
his  mate. 

It  was  indeed  a  delight  to  watch  so  beautiful  a  bird  at  such  close  range — 
particularly  as  she  took  no  notice  of  any  slight  movements  within  the  observa- 
tion post. 

When  I  returned  to  my  friends  that  evening,  I  was  so  pleased  with  my 
experience  that  I  tried  to  induce  them  to  agree  to  sit  in  the  observation  post 
for  an  hour  or  so  one  day,  just  for  the  joy  of  watching  at  such  wonderfully 
close  range,  and  in  such  comparative  comfort,  one  of  our  shyest  birds.  But 


CONCERNING  A  SPARROW  HAWK  FAMILY         111 

although  they  all  agreed  to  do  so,  and  their  enthusiasm  seemed  to  be  genuine 
enough,  not  one  of  them  ever  carried  the  promise  into  effect ! 

On  the  following  day,  having  at  length  fixed  the  cinema  camera  in  position 
and  made  myself  more  or  less  comfortable  on  a  seat  which  I  had  previously 
arranged,  I  sat  with  my  eye  to  the  look-out  hole,  awaiting  the  coming  of  the 
hawk. 

I  noticed  that  four  of  the  eggs  had  already  hatched,  the  little  hawks,  with 
the  remaining  two  eggs  lying  huddled  together  in  the  middle  of  the  nest.  Judg- 
ing by  the  experience  of  the  previous  day,  I  felt  pretty  sure— since  every  pre- 
caution had  been  taken  not  to  scare  the  old  bird— that  she  would  soon  return 
to  the  nest ;  and  as  it  turned  out  my  surmise  was  correct,  for  within  twenty 
minutes  she  suddenly,  and  without  the  slightest  sound  of  warning,  appeared 
on  the  edge  of  the  nest.  So  silently  and  so  unexpectedly  did  she  arrive  that, 
close  as  I  was  to  her,  it  took  me  a  fraction  of  a  second  to  fully  realize  that  she 
was  there. 

For  a  little  while  she  stood  erect  on  the  side  of  the  nest,  with  her  head 
inclined  forward,  in  a  listening  attitude,  and  with  one  yellow  eye  fixed  intently 
on  my  hiding-place.  Then  presently,  having  it  seemed  satisfied  herself  that 
all  was  well,  she  puffed  out  her  feathers,  and  lowering  her  body  so  that  her  toes 
just  protruded  beneath  her  breast  feathers,  commenced  to  shuffle  in  the  most 
awkward  way  towards  her  young.  I  have  never  seen  any  bird  except  a  hawk 
prepare  to  cover  her  eggs  or  young  in  this  extraordinary  fashion — which,  by  the 
way,  reminded  me  of  the  actions  of  the  Hobby  and  the  Peregrine. 

Having  eventually  advanced  sufficiently  far  to  be  able  to  cover  the  young, 
she  spent  some  little  time  in  raising  and  lowering  her  body,  and  in  shuffling 
about  before  settling  comfortably  down  to  brood.  Once  more  I  gazed  ad- 
miringly at  her  as  she  sat  in  the  bright  sunshine.  Her  back  looked  bluer  than 
ever,  whilst  her  golden  eye  with  the  projecting  brow,  her  delicately  lined  breast, 
and  perfectly  formed  tail,  combined  to  complete  the  most  beautiful  Sparrow 
Hawk  I  have  ever  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing. 

What  a  sin  to  shoot  such  a  creature  ! 

She  had  not  brooded  the  young  for  more  than  ten  minutes  when,  from  the 
trees  on  my  right,  I  heard  the  subdued,  long-drawn  call  of  the  male,  a  soft 
1  p-e-e-e-w  '  repeated  two  or  three  times.  At  once,  and  again  without  a  sound, 
the  female  had  left  the  nest,  and  was  absent  for  some  twenty  or  thirty  seconds. 
Then,  as  unexpectedly  as  before,  she  was  standing  again  on  the  edge  of  the  nest — 
this  time  with  a  small  bird  grasped  in  one  foot. 

I  could  not  tell  exactly  what  species  of  bird  this  was,  since  it  had  already 
been  thoroughly  plucked  by  the  male,  and  in  addition  was  minus  its  head — 
though  from  its  shape  I  should  say,  with  some  degree  of  certainty,  that  it  was 
some  kind  of  warbler — a  whitethroat  perhaps,  for  the  woods  literally  abounded 
with  these  little  birds. 


112  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

And  as  to  its  head  being  missing— I  have  usually  noticed  that  the  birds 
brought  to  the  nest  by  Merlins,  Hobbies,  Kestrels,  and  Sparrow  Hawks  have 
been  decapitated,  no  doubt  because  the  male,  feeling  that  his  efforts  are  entitled 
to  some  reward,  generally  eats  the  head  himself. 

Such  a  tiny  bird,  encircled  by  the  female's  talons,  looked  ridiculously  small, 
and  to  all  appearance  she  could  have  managed  one  several  sizes  bigger ;  for, 
holding  it  on  to  the  nest  with  the  two  large  middle  talons  of  each  foot,  she 
wrenched  pieces  off  with  her  beak  with  the  utmost  ease  ;  and  legs,  breast, 
wings,  and  what  few  feathers  were  still  adhering  to  them,  disappeared  with  the 
same  facility. 

Her  meal  finished  the  hawk  once  more  puffed  out  her  feathers,  and  shuffled 
on  to  the  family— though  I  noticed  that  she  did  not  during  that  morning  feed 
them  at  all— no  doubt  because  young  birds  when  first  hatched  do  not  require 
food  for  some  little  while. 

On  the  following  day  another  young  hawk  had  hatched,  and  the  old  Sparrow 
Hawk  seemed  to  be  even  more  solicitous  for  the  welfare  of  her  family  than  on 
the  previous  day ;  for  I  had  hardly  settled  myself  in  the  observation  post 
when  she  returned  to  the  nest,  and  with  very  little  hesitation  commenced  to 
shuffle  forward  towards  them. 

On  visiting  the  nest  just  ten  days  later  I  was  surprised  to  see — from  the 
observation  post — that  there  were  now  only  four  young  ones  in  the  nest,  and 
decided  to  climb  up  to  see  if  I  could  account  for  the  disappearance  of  the  fifth. 

The  egg  I  discovered  was  still  intact,  and  obviously  bad,  so  I  threw  it 
overboard,  but  the  missing  youngster  I  failed  to  trace  until  I  had  returned  to 
earth,  where  I  discovered  it  lying  dead  on  the  ground  beneath  the  nest. 

So,  the  problem  solved,  I  returned  once  more  to  the  observation  post  and 
prepared  again  to  await  the  return  of  the  old  bird.  Once  again  she  behaved 
in  the  most  pleasing  manner,  coming  on  to  the  nest  before  I  had  been  in  position 
for  many  minutes,  and  again  shuffling  towards  her  young.  This  time,  however, 
she  did  not  cover  them,  but  instead  turned  her  back  towards  the  sun,  which 
was  beating  down  directly  onto  the  nest, and,  by  spreading  her  wings  and  tail, 
made  a  sort  of  shelter,  under  the  shadow  of  which  they  could  take  refuge  from 
the  hot  glare. 

The  old  Sparrow  Hawk  seemed  to  feel  the  heat  very  considerably  herself, 
for  she  had  her  beak  open  as  though  panting  for  breath — though  it  is  not  at  all 
unusual  for  any  sitting  bird  to  open  her  beak  if  the  sun  should  be  shining  on  to 
her. 

At  exactly  mid-day  the  plaintive  cry  of  the  male  sounded  from  his  favourite 
tree  on  the  right,  and  in  response  the  female  slipped  silently  off  the  nest. 

It  may  be  a  coincidence,  but  I  have  never  yet  seen  the  male  of  any  species 
of  hawk  take  food  actually  to  the  sitting  female— though  I  have  on  countless 
occasions  watched  one  of  them  bring  it  to  the  vicinity  of  the  nest,  and  have  seen 


THE  SPARROW-HAWK'S  WILD   EYE 


CONCERNING  A  SPARROW  HAWK  FAMILY          113 

the  female  in  response  to  the  call  leave  her  eggs  or  young  to  meet  him,  and  secure 
the  prey. 

When  the  female  returned  to  the  nest  she  again  had  a  small  bird  in  her 
talons,  which,  as  before,  lacked  its  head,  and  the  majority  of  its  feathers.  Hold- 
ing this  down  as  on  the  previous  occasion  she  commenced  to  tear  off  tiny 
pieces,  which  the  youngsters,  who  had  lined  up  before  her  as  though  expecting 
a  feast,  pecked  from  the  tip  of  her  beak  as  it  was  held  out  towards  them. 

Occasionally  she  would  offer  to  them  an  awkwardly  shaped  piece,  which  the 
recipient  would  find  difficult,  or  impossible,  to  swallow;  and  then,  noticing  his 
unsuccessful  struggles  to  get  rid  of  it,  she  would  take  it  into  her  own  beak  again 
and  swallow  it  herself. 

Considering  that  the  young  ones  were  only  ten  days  old,  they  had  grown, 
as  young  creatures  do  grow,  in  an  amazing  manner— already  they  sat  up  on 
their  elbows  in  splendid  style,  and  had  looked  at  me  in  the  most  perky  way 
when  I  climbed  up  in  search  for  their  missing  brother. 

The  quills  too  were  already  coming  through  the  down,  although  no  feathers 
were  yet  apparent. 

At  about  three  o'clock,  the  male  brought  another  bird  to  the  trees,  which 
looked,  when  the  female  had  carried  it  on  to  the  nest,  like  a  sparrow,  or  a  green- 
finch. 

Just  a  week  later  another  visit  was  paid  to  the  hawk  family,  though,  before 
climbing  to  the  observation  post,  I  helped  my  companion  to  construct  a  hiding- 
place  some  distance  away,  from  which,  with  the  aid  of  glasses,  he  would  be 
able  to  see  the  goings-on  in  the  nest. 

Whilst  we  were  making  the  hiding-place  the  female  Sparrow  Hawk,  no 
doubt  watching  our  movements,  soared  above  the  trees.  Our  presence  in  fact 
seemed  to  have  a  disquieting  effect  on  her  temper,  for  she  made  wild  dashes  at 
any  dangerous-looking  bird  that  came  anywhere  near  to  her.  At  one  time  three 
crows  were  flapping  innocently  overhead — when  the  little  hawk,  recognizing 
in  them  some  possible  enemies,  shot  up  into  their  midst,  and  sent  them  flying 
in  all  directions.  One  of  them  she  singled  out  for  further  attacks,  and  the 
unhappy  crow  really  seemed  to  be  exerting  himself  to  the  utmost  to  avoid  her 
furious  onslaught.  As  she  swung  at  him  he  would  turn  head  downwards  and 
with  wings  spread  and  tail  pointing  to  the  sky,  came  swishing  and  gliding  to- 
wards the  earth  like  a  piece  of  cardboard  that  is  thrown  edgeways  into  the 
air. 

A  little  later  a  Heron  reposefully  sailed  along  in  the  direction  of  the  heronry, 
and  the  hawk,  now  thoroughly  worked  up,  shot  after  him  as  though  he,  too,  were 
an  arch-enemy;  the  poor  Heron  squawking  frantically  as  he  endeavoured,  by 
doing  a  corkscrew  nose-dive,  to  get  clear  of  the  feathered  termagant ! 

When  I  ultimately  looked  on  to  the  nest  from  the  observation  post  I  could 
not  help  a  feeling  of  surprise  that  the  young  hawks  had  developed  so  much  since 

p 


114  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

I  had  last  seen  them,  for  now  the  brown  feathers  of  maturity  were  already 
replacing  the  down  of  youth,  while  they  spent  the  major  portion  of  their  time 
in  standing  upright  on  the  nest,  and  preening  and  arranging  their  growing 
feathers.  As  before,  they  were  fed  at  mid-day,  but  this  time  received  a  further 
supply  of  food  at  one  o'clock,  and  yet  more  at  about  three. 

As  they  were  finishing  their  mid-day  rations,  the  male  settled  on  the  nest, 
perhaps  to  see  how  they  were  getting  on — he  did  not  stay  long,  however,  for  a 
slight  noise  from  the  observation  post  caused  him  to  dash  off  instantly,  although 
his  mate  maintained  her  usual  unconcern.  In  fact,  by  this  time  the  female  had 
become  so  accustomed  to  the  observation  post  and  the  noises  which  proceeded 
from  it,  that  I  found  it  difficult  to  scare  her  away  when  I  wanted  to  make  my 
exit,  or  when  I  wished  to  secure  moving  pictures  of  her  leaving  the  nest.  I 
tried  pulling  the  branches  at  the  end  of  the  rope  right  up  to  my  hiding-place  ; 
then  I  clapped  my  hands  and  even  shouted,  without  causing  her  the  least  un- 
easiness. Once  I  dropped  my  hat  to  see  if  I  could  induce  her  to  leave — but 
again  without  result. 

When  at  last  I  heard  my  companion's  whistle  from  the  footpath  amongst 
the  trees,  I  decided  that  this  should  be  my  opportunity  for  getting  the  pictures 
as  she  went  off  at  his  approach.  So  as  he  drew  nearer  I  commenced  to  turn  the 
handle,  and  shouted  to  him  to  '  put  her  off.'  For  some  time  she  remained 
standing  motionless  on  the  side  of  the  nest,  and  not  until  my  friend  had  violently 
shaken  a  small  elder  bush  did  she  at  last  leave. 

A  week  later,  that  is  July  7, 1  watched  the  young  hawks  preparing  to  leave, 
and  actually  leaving,  the  nest.  They  were  now  pretty  well  covered  by  their 
brownish  feathers,  although  a  good  deal  of  down  was  still  adhering  to  their 
bodies.  They  were,  strangely  enough,  all  males. 

They  seemed  anxious  to  attempt  a  trial  flight,  but  as  yet  seemed  to  lack 
confidence,  for  every  now  and  then  one  of  them  would  stand  on  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  nest,  lean  forward  and  raise  his  wings  above  his  back,  as  though 
about  to  take  the  plunge,  and  then,  thinking  better  of  it,  would  turn  round  and 
spend  some  seconds  in  jumping  into  the  air,  and  flapping  wildly  with  his  wings 
as  though  giving  vent  to  his  pent-up  feelings. 

At  last,  however,  one  of  them  took  the  fatal  leap,  and  flew  with  extraordi- 
nary ease  to  a  branch  some  10  or  12  feet  from  the  nest,  where  he  sat  preening 
himself  more  intently  than  ever. 

And  soon  another  followed  him,  and  then  another  ;  the  one  remaining 
youngster  contenting  himself  by  continually  repeating  the  upward  jumping 
and  wing-flapping  exercise.  Some  time  later  the  old  female  returned  to  the 
nest  with  a  headless  starling  in  her  talons.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  she  had 
caught  this  herself ;  for  it  was  bigger  than  the  mate's  usual  prey ;  also,  she 
had  not  been  with  the  young  for  some  hours  ;  and  I  did  not  hear  the  call  of  the 
male  before  she  appeared  on  the  nest. 


CONCERNING  A   SPARROW  HAWK  FAMILY         115 

The  single  young  one  on  the  nest  set  up  a  plaintive  mewing  when  he  saw 
her  approaching,  which  was  taken  up  by  the  other  three  in  the  branches. 
Ignoring  the  absence  of  three  of  her  family,  the  mother  commenced  to  tear  the 
victim  to  pieces,  and  seemed  quite  happy  when  the  solitary  youngster  took  from 
her  beak  and  swallowed  the  little  bits  that  she  gave  to  him. 

But  in  the  meantime  the  mewings  of  the  three  young  ones  in  the  branches 
were  growing  more  and  more  insistent,  until  one  by  one  they  returned  and 
shared  in  the  meal.  I  noticed  that  before  plucking  up  courage  to  fly  the  tone 
of  their  mewing  grew  higher  and  higher  pitched,  and  was  at  the  moment  of 
taking  off  exceedingly  shrill  and  very  quickly  repeated. 

On  the  following  day  all  four  of  the  young  hawks  were  sitting  among  the 
branches,  though  they  would  frequently  return  to  the  nest  to  lie  down  and 
take  a  rest.  They  always  greeted  the  arrival  of  their  parent  with  an 
outburst  of  mewing,  and  as  they  gained  confidence  in  their  wings,  they 
returned  the  more  readily  to  her  side. 

For  yet  another  week  the  young  hawks  returned  to  the  nest  for  food, 
although  by  that  time  they  were  experts  on  the  wing,  and  one  might  imagine 
would  have  found  their  way  further  afield. 

On  July  15  an  unplucked  and  intact  Great  Tit  was  lying  on  the  nest — 
the  first  bird  that  I  had  seen  there  which  had  not  been  plucked.  It  is  possible, 
since  the  young  hawks  must  sooner  or  later  acquire  the  habit  of  plucking  their 
quarry  for  themselves,  that  the  parents  at  this  stage  purposely  bring  intact 
birds  to  the  nest  in  order  to  encourage  them  to  make  a  start. 

Whether  either  of  the  young  hawks  succeeded  in  plucking  it  I  cannot  say, 
for  when  one  of  them  came  to  the  nest  he  merely  snatched  it  up  and  carried  it 
away,  fearful  no  doubt  lest  the  others  should  claim  a  share. 

And  so  my  experience  with  the  Sparrow  Hawk  family  came  to  an  end — I 
did  hear  of  them  being  fed  on  the  ground  some  days  later,  but  on  trying  to 
approach  the  place  only  succeeded  in  catching  a  glimpse  of  their  vanishing 
forms  as  they  flashed  away  through  the  trees. 

It  may  be  gathered  from  the  foregoing  that  the  Sparrow  Hawk,  as  well 
as  being  a  highly  temperamental  creature,  is  also  extremely  courageous. 
But  in  order  to  prove  perhaps  more  conclusively  that  such  really  is  the 
case,  the  following  incident,  for  the  truth  of  which  I  can  personally  vouch,  may 
be  of  interest : — 

A  sitting  female  Sparrow  Hawk  was  approached  one  evening  by  a 
man  with  a  gun,  who  was  out  to  end  her  life.  As  she  left  the  nest  he  fired 
both  barrels  at  her,  but,  apparently,  only  succeeded  in  dislodging  a  bunch  of 
feathers. 

On  the  following  day  he  again  went  to  the  nest,  but  seeing  no  sign  of  her, 
imagined  that  she  had  either  left  the  place  in  terror  or  had  dropped  among  the 
trees  to  die. 


116  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

So  he  decided  to  climb  up  to  the  nest,  and  take  any  eggs  there  might  be 
for  his  son's  collection. 

On  looking  over  the  edge  of  the  nest,  he  was  surprised  to  see  that  the 
Sparrow  Hawk  was  back  on  her  eggs.  She  was  dead. 


CHAPTER  XII 

The    Home    Life   of  the    Heron 

IN  the  romantic  age,  when  Falconry  was  the  sport  of  Kings,  a  deep  interest 
was  taken  in  the  Heron,  for  the  reason  that  in  those  days  it  was  the 
quarry  de  luxe  of  the  lordly  Peregrine  ;  and  to  interfere  with  a  Heron 
or  its  nest  involved  risks  of  the  most  painful  punishment  the  law  could 
inflict,  so  anxious  were  the  authorities  to  preserve  the  birds  for  their  favourite 
sport. 

And  even  in  these  days  of  hammerless  ejectors  and  split  cane  rods,  one 
cannot  but  recognize  in  the  Heron  a  bird  so  beautiful  in  form  and  colour— so 
decorative,  that  even  the  most  enthusiastic  trout-stream  owner  would,  one 
imagines,  be  sorry  to  find  it  completely  exterminated. 

It  is  generally  the  ambition  of  every  aspiring  naturalist  photographer  to 
obtain  a  successful  picture  of  the  nest  and  eggs  of  some  particularly  rare  or 
attractive  bird— a  comparatively  simple  matter  when  the  nest  is  on  the  ground 
or  in  a  bush,  but  an  exceedingly  trying  one  when,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Heron, 
the  nest  is  in  the  top  of  some  apparently  inaccessible  tree. 

A  photograph  of  a  Heron's  nest  and  eggs  was  the  result  of  the  writer's 
earliest  attempt  at  serious  tree-top  photography  :  and  strangely  enough — 
probably  more  by  good  luck  than  judgment — it  proved  to  be  so  pleasing 
as  regards  composition,  lighting,  and  so  on,  as  to  subsequently  create  such 
a  favourable  impression  upon  a  certain  photographic  critic  of  the  day  that 
the  author  was  encouraged  to  carry  on  with  his  interesting,  if  at  times  risky, 
diversion. 

It  was  secured  after  a  most  unhappy  two  hours  had  been  spent  in  climbing 
the  tree,  and  in  attempting  to  fix  in  position  the  little  camera  in  which  such 
implicit  confidence  had  been  placed.  And  then,  of  course,  the  business  of 
focusing,  readjusting  and  so  on  had  to  be  gone  through,  the  unsteadiness  of 
the  camera  rectified,  and  the  dark-slide  ultimately  placed  in  position.  At 
the  psychological  moment  a  misty  rain  began  to  fall,  and  the  writer,  who 
had  read  in  the  photographic  handbooks  that  in  order  to  take  good  photographs 
one  must  have  the  sun  shining  over  the  left  shoulder,  felt  his  heart  sink  to  the 
region  of  his  boots. 

Had  he  thought  as  he  thinks  now,  he  would  certainly  have  welcomed  this 

117 


118  WILD   LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

veil  of  mist,  for  with  luck  it  might  impart  the  atmosphere  of  height  and  mystery, 
which  would  seem  to  be  so  desirable  in  such  a  case. 

Since  that  day  it  has  fallen  to  his  lot  to  spend  many  hours  amongst  the 
Herons'  nests,  and  to  have  had  ample  opportunity  of  observing  and  photo- 
graphing not  only  their  sky-blue  eggs  in  varying  lights,  but  the  birds  them- 
selves, their  manner  of  brooding;  of  feeding  the  young; a  nd  of  disgorging 
their  food. 

It  perhaps  goes  without  saying  that,  in  order  to  become  thus  acquainted 
with  such  an  arboreal  family,  it  is  necessary  to  construct  an  observation  post 
on  the  same  lines  as  that  which  we  made  when  studying  the  Rook,  into 
which,  in  due  course,  the  observer  may  retire,  and  whence  he  can  watch  events 
without  himself  being  seen. 

The  building  of  the  observation  post  will  probably  extend  over  a  period 
of  weeks,  for  the  Heron,  like  the  Rook,  is  an  exceedingly  shy  bird,  and  if  so 
huge  a  structure  were  to  appear  too  suddenly,  the  result  would  probably  be 
that  the  family  under  observation  would  be  deserted. 

However,  the  construction  of  the  observation  post  has  been  dealt  with 
more  fully  in  previous  chapters,  and  for  the  purpose  of  the  moment  we  will 
suppose  that  we  have  an  observation  post  already  prepared  at  the  top  of  an 
oak  tree,  and  within  a  few  yards  of  several  Herons'  nests  ;  that  it  is  about  8.30 
on  a  July  morning ;  and  that  we  are  on  the  way  to  the  Heronry. 

The  day  is  sunny  and  still ;  hardly  a  breath  of  air  stirs  among  the  trees, 
and  the  place  seems  uncannily  quiet. 

It  is  always  so  towards  the  end  of  July.  One  hears  little  of  the  bird  voices 
of  early  summer,  except  perhaps  the  song  of  the  ubiquitous  wood-pigeon,  who 
does  his  best  to  coo  a  love  song  from  the  hawthorns  in  the  valley. 

Through  the  dead  leaves  and  undergrowth  on  the  way  to  the  Heronry  a 
little  pathway  has  been  cleared,  so  that  it  is  possible  to  creep  along  to  the  trees 
in  comparative  silence,  and  at  least  without  the  upsetting  accompaniment  of 
snapping  twigs.  At  a  bend  in  the  path  a  halt  is  made,  for  away  up  through 
the  branches  one  of  the  Heron's  nests  may  be  seen,  and  standing  upon  it,  silhou- 
etted against  the  sky,  four  nearly  full  grown  young  Herons.  What  extra- 
ordinarily beautiful  birds  they  look — even  at  such  a  distance.  A  few  yards 
further  on,  and  still  under  cover,  we  are  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  in  the  topmost 
branches  of  which  the  observation  post,  well  camouflaged  with  dead  branches, 
looks  for  all  the  world  like  an  enormous  inverted  wren's  nest. 

Close  by  it  are  two  more  nests  :  one  containing  eggs,  and  the  other  half- 
grown  young  ones,  and  by  peering  through  the  foliage  one  can  see  that  an  old 
Heron  is  on  each  of  them.  Only  the  head  and  neck  of  the  one  with  the  eggs 
can  be  seen,  as  she  is  sitting  ;  but  the  other  is  standing  on  the  edge  of  her  nest 
preening  herself.  What  a  magnificent  bird  !  One  feels  inclined  to  stand  and 
watch  her  indefinitely. 


A   YOUNG   HKRON 
JUST   HATCHED 


THE   HOME   LIFE   OF  THE   HERON  119 

But  if  the  Herons  are  to  be  seen  at  really  close  quarters  it  is  perhaps  waste 
of  time  to  spy  at  them  from  this  distance  and  elevation,  and  we  may  as  well 
proceed  without  further  delay  with  the  business  of  climbing  to  the  observation 
post,  and  with  this  end  in  view  we  step  into  the  open  from  our  overhead  cover. 
Immediately  the  whole  wood  is  in  an  uproar  !  Herons  '  fraanking  '  with 
resentment,  flop  from  their  nests  above,  whilst  some,  bolder  than  the  others, 
wait  still  as  stone  upon  the  edge  of  their  nests  before  joining  the  dark  soaring 
forms  gathering  in  the  air  above  the  trees. 

Glancing  up  at  the  nest  with  the  four  large  young  ones  we  notice  that  it 
now  seems  to  be  empty,  and  we  wonder  whether  they  too  have  attempted  to 
follow  their  older  relations  into  the  sky  ! 

The  tree — an  oak — is  somewhat  difficult  of  ascension,  for  it  lacks  any 
helping  branches  for  the  first  20  feet  or  so,  and  for  this  distance  one  has 
to  work  one's  way  up  in  much  the  same  manner  as  one  climbs  a  rope  in  the 
gymnasium. 

At  last  the  observation  post  is  reached,  and  before  creeping  into  its  interior, 
we  notice,  as  we  cast  a  glance  at  the  nearest  Heron's  nest,  that  the  four  young 
ones  which  we  had  thought  might  have  taken  flight,  are  crouching  on  the 
floor  of  it. 

Inside  the  observation  post  is  a  more  or  less  horizontal  branch,  which 
serves  as  a  seat,  and  after  the  exertion  of  climbing  the  tree,  one  sinks  on  to  it 
with  feelings  of  deep  thankfulness  for  its  timely  presence. 

It  is  a  mistake,  however,  to  be  too  optimistic  under  such  conditions,  for 
we  may  be  sure  that  long  before  even  an  hour  has  passed,  the  seat  will  become 
painfully  uncomfortable,  and  we  can  only  hope  that,  when  a  change  of  position 
becomes  essential,  our  movements  will  not  frighten  any  of  the  old  Herons, 
which  may,  by  that  time,  have  returned  to  their  nests. 

Peeping  through  a  little  spy-hole,  which  has  already  been  prepared,  we 
notice  that  the  four  young  Herons  are  still  crouching — so  absolutely  motionless 
are  they  that  one  has  to  gaze  at  them  for  quite  a  considerable  time  before 
being  able  to  make  out  which  sleek  head  belongs  to  which  body  ;  or  to  decide 
exactly  how  many  staring  yellow  eyes  there  are  among  the  compact  mass. 

For  thirty  or  forty  minutes  they  remain  thus  inert,  and  one  begins  to 
wonder  if  they  will  ever  come  back  to  life.  Then  without  any  warning,  one  of 
them,  hoping  no  doubt  that  the  danger  has  at  length  passed,  raises  himself  on 
to  his  knees^-or  elbows— and  turning  his  head  half-sideways,  fixes  his  gaze 
upon  a  large  semi-digested  fish,  probably  weighing  over  2  lb.,  which  one  of 
the  other  members  of  the  family  had  disgorged  at  the  approach  of  seeming 
danger.  • 

Anxious,  no  doubt,  not  to  lose  such  a  golden  opportunity,  he  hesitates  no 
longer  :  his  head  shoots  forward,  and  he  seizes  the  tempting  morsel  with  the 
tip  of  his  beak.  The  process  of  swallowing  it  seems  to  cause  him  considerable 


120  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

anxiety  and  trouble  ;  but  with  a  series  of  the  most  energetic  jerks,  accompanied 
by  a  strained  expression  and  bulging  eyes,  he  eventually  succeeds  in  his  task  : 
the  shape  of  the  fish  being  seen  for  the  last  time  as  it  passes  down  the  interior 
of  his  slender  neck. 

A  few  words  apropos  of  this  peculiarity  of  regurgitation  by  young  herons 
may  not  be  out  of  place  here.  What  prompts  them  thus  to  lose  their  food  to 
no  advantage  ?  Surely  it  cannot  be  that  the  feeling  of  fear  which  overcomes 
them  is  so  violent  that  it  literally  sickens  them. 

The  writer  is  of  the  opinion  that  it  is  due  to  an  instinctive  desire  to  lighten 
themselves  in  case  of  an  emergency  flight — and  for  two  reasons.  Firstly,  it 
seems  that  young  herons  do  not  disgorge  food  from  fright  until  they  are  approach- 
ing the  age  at  which  they  will  become  '  branchers,'  that  is  to  say,  will  be  suffi- 
ciently developed  to  take  short  flights  to  neighbouring  branches. 

And  secondly,  it  is  a  fact  well  known  to  Falconers  that  a  Heron  '  ringing 
up  '  (rising  in  the  air)  before  a  couple  of  Falcons,  will,  in  its  efforts  to  lighten 
itself,  and  so  keep  above  its  pursuers,  disgorge  any  food  which  may  still  be 
undigested.  So  that  in  watching  such  a  flight  one  might  expect  to  see  a  small 
shower  of — for  instance. — fish  and  shrimps  fall  from  the  clouds. 

But  this  habit  will  be  referred  to  later,  and  to  return  to  the  nest 
under  discussion,  we  see  that  the  four  young  herons,  having  now  sufficiently 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  seeing  a  human  being,  are  all  standing  upright 
upon  the  nest,  preening  their  feathers  and  stretching  their  beautiful  grey 
wings. 

One  of  them  suffering  apparently  from  some  scalp  irritation,  stands  upon 
one  foot,  and  for  some  half  a  minute  scratches  the  top  of  his  head  with  the  middle 
toe  of  the  other.  They  are  very  busy  fitting  themselves  for  the  life  that  lies 
before  them. 

Through  another  peephole — a  little  more  to  the  right — we  can  see  the  nest 
which  contains  eggs,  and  also  the  female  parent  Heron,  which  in  the  meantime 
has  returned  to  her  charges. 

She  is  sitting  quite  flat,  so  that  the  top  of  her  back  is  only  slightly  above 
the  level  of  the  edge  of  the  nest,  and  with  her  head  wedged  back  between  her 
shoulders. 

What  a  piercing  yellow  eye  she  has  !  So  round  it  is,  and  so  severely  does 
it  seem  to  fasten  its  gaze  into  the  very  depths  of  the  peephole,  that  one  feels 
quite  embarrassed  at  being  thus  found  out  whilst  playing  '  Peeping  Tom.' 
As  a  matter  of  fact  this  is  the  Heron's  normal  expression — it  reminds  one 
somehow  of  the  glassy  stare  of  a  snake. 

Occasionally  she  raises  her  head — but  without  the  least  movement  of  any 
other  part  of  her  body— to  satisfy  herself  that  a  blackbird  or  rabbit  scrabbling 
about  in  the  leaves  below  is  really  nothing  to  occasion  alarm. 

To  see  her  head  return  to  its  position  between  the  shoulders  is  indeed  a 


WITH    HER  YELLOW  EYE   FIXED  ON  THE  O.P. 


THE   HOME   LIFE   OF  THE   HERON  121 

revelation ;  so  gradually,  so  almost  imperceptibly  does  it  subside,  that  it  is 
only  by  watching  its  position  in  relation  to  some  twig  which  is  really  stationary 
that  one  realizes  the  fact  that  it  is  moving  at  all. 

But  how  exceedingly  uncomfortable  the  seat  is  becoming  !  A  change  of 
position  is  clearly  indicated — and  that  without  delay  ;  already  one  foot  has 
'  gone  to  sleep,'  whilst  the  other,  owing  to  its  being  wedged  into  a  fork  of  the 
tree,  has  developed  a  species  of  cramp.  So  by  stealthily  clutching  an  overhead 
branch  the  body  is  gently  raised  a  few  inches  forward,  and  lowered  again  with 
as  little  to  do  as  possible.  What  a  relief !  But  a  good  idea  would  surely  be 
to  make  a  cushion  of  a  sack  which  is  hanging  from  a  branch  supporting  the  roof 
of  the  observation  post,  and  seems  to  be  serving  no  useful  purpose  in  its 
present  position. 

So  the  sack  is  quietly  taken  down,  folded  into  the  semblance  of  a  cushion, 
and  placed  upon  the  '  seat  branch  ' ;  the  body  in  turn  is  again  raised  and  lowered, 
this  time  on  to  the  yielding  sack. 

This  of  course  is  much  more  comfortable- — a  splendid  idea — and  being  a 
little  higher  one  can  look  with  less  inconvenience  through  the  various  peep- 
holes. Particularly  well,  can  the  nest  on  the  left — that  containing  the  half- 
grown  young  ones. — be  seen. 

These  youngsters  are  the  most  extraordinary  little  creatures.  A  good 
deal  of  the  '  down  of  youth  '  (if  the  yellowish  feathery  effect  may  be  called 
'  down  ')  is  still  adhering  to  their  bodies — and  that,  combined  with  their  growing 
feathers,  which  seem  to  be  pushing  through  at  most  awkward  angles,  gives 
them  a  shaggy,  unkempt  appearance,  which  borders  on  the  ridiculous. 

This  unsophisticated  family,  not  yet  having  reached  the  age  when  fear 
of  apparent  enemies  induces  them  to  crouch,  or  disgorge  food,  lead  a  happy 
care-free  life,  and  at  the  moment  seem  to  be  wondering  what  to  do  next.  One 
of  them  gazes  for  some  time  into  his  brother's  motionless  face,  and  then  pecks 
thoughtfully  at  the  yellow  eye.  This  act  of  friendship  seems  to  be  misunder- 
stood, for  a  squabble  ensues — the  two  of  them  sinking  into  a  sitting  position, 
and  pecking  wildly  in  the  direction  of  each  other's  faces. 

First  one,  as  it  were  '  throwing  '  his  head  at  the  other,  leads  off :  the  blow 
misses  its  mark  by  several  inches,  and  the  opponent  seizing  his  opportunity, 
retaliates  in  the  same  manner.  He  too  fails  to  score  a  hit,  and  the  first,  having 
in  the  meantime  assumed  the  correct  attitude  of  aggression,  once  more  tries 
his  luck — again  without  success. 

Soon  they  are  at  it  hammer  and  tongs,  squawking  and  squealing  in  the 
heat  of  battle.  Really  they  look  very  much  more  like  two  figures  fighting  in  a 
Punch  and  Judy  show  than  two  junior  members  of  a  most  dignified  race  of 
birds.  One  wonders  how  they  would  settle  the  difference  if  their  parent  should 
unexpectedly  return  to  feed  them  ! 

But  no  mature  bird— with  the  exception  of  the  one  sitting  on  the  right— 

Q 


122  WILD   LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

has  yet  put  in  an  appearance.  She  is  as  motionless  as  ever— her  cold  yellow 
eye  still— apparently— fixed  on  the  peephole. 

Well,  it  is  an  opportunity  for  another  change  of  position,  so  the  body  is 
raised  as  on  the  previous  occasion. 

In  an  instant  the  sitting  Heron's  head  has  shot  up  to  the  full  length  of 
her  neck— for  a  fraction  of  a  second  it  is  held  so  ;  clean  cut  in  form,  and  with 
eye  rounded  in  terror— then  a  '  whoof-whoof '  of  her  great  wings  and^-she  is 
gone  !  Almost  immediately  the  '  flop  '  of  something  hitting  the  ground  below 
reminds  us  that  we  had  omitted  to  fasten  the  cushion-sack  on  to  our  seat ! 
Hence  the  Heron's  consternation. 

So  once  more  the  hard  branch — minus  the  cushion — is  utilized  as  a  seat  ; 
and  it  would  seem  lucky  that  the  sack  dropped  when  it  did,  for  a  few  minutes 
later  the  half-grown  young  ones< — their  quarrel  forgotten — suddenly  develop 
a  state  of  the  most  feverish  excitement.  With  crests  and  '  hackles  '  raised, 
they  stamp  about  the  nest,  uttering  the  while  a  queer  '  chun-chun-chun ' — not 
unlike  the  noise  that  a  steam-roller  makes — and  trying,  it  almost  seems,  to 
brush  each  other  aside  with  their  '  quilly  '  half-spread  wings.  In  a  few  seconds 
the  cause  of  their  excitement  appears,  for  with  his  great  wings  beating  the  air 
as  he  steadies  his  flight,  the  most  glorious  male  Heron  lands  upon  the  edge  of 
the  nest. 

The  young  ones,  now  quite  overcome  by  their  excitement  and  unable  to 
contain  themselves  any  longer,  begin  to  bob  up  and  down  before  him,  curtsying 
as  it  were,  in  their  anxiety  for  the  food  which  they  cannot  see,  but  which  they 
conclude  will  be  produced. 

4  Food  which  they  cannot  see,'  and  food  moreover  which  the  observer 
would  not  even  suspect — for  the  Heron  does  not,  as  is  sometimes  erroneously 
believed — carry  its  food  in  a  pouch  at  the  base  of  the  bill  as  a  Rook  does — nor 
in  fact  anywhere  else  where  its  presence  might  be  detected.  The  food  is  swal- 
lowed, and  then  disgorged  for  the  young,  and  is  usually  more  or  less  digested. 

The  actual  process  of  regurgitation  covers  a  period  of  several  minutes. 
In  the  first  place  the  parent  Heron  raises  his  head  to  the  full  extent  of  his 
slender  neck,  and  with  convulsive  workings  of  his  cheeks  and  throat  prepares 
to  eject  the  meal. 

This  seems  to  tantalize  the  young  ones  to  such  an  extent  that  their  steam- 
roller cry  gives  place  to  a  noisy  pig-like  squealing,  while,  reaching  up  unsteadily 
on  their  immature  legs,  they  make  wild  jabs  with  their  beaks  in  the  direction 
of  their  parent's  face. 

Then,  quite  deliberately,  the  provident  head  is  lowered,  so  that  the  young 
herons  may,  commencing  at  the  extreme  base  of  the  bill — and  sometimes  about 
the  region  of  the  eyes — draw  their  beaks  along  his  to  the  tip — in  much  the  same 
way  as  one  milks  a  cow — and  by  so  doing,  scrape  off  some  semi-fluid  substance 
which  seems  to  give  them  great  satisfaction. 


THE   HOME   LIFE   OF  THE  HERON  123 

Then  again  his  head  is  raised  ;  more  convulsions  of  the  throat  and 
cheeks  follow,  whilst  the  youngsters,  squealing  with  undiminished  energy, 
seize  and  scrape  his  lowered  beak  as  before. 

At  length,  having  raised  and  lowered  his  head  some  seven  or  eight  times,  he 
ultimately,  in  spite  of  the  frantic  efforts  of  the  family  to  seize  any  unoccupied 
portion  of  his  bill,  succeeds  in  disgorging  into  the  nest  what  may  be  described 
as  the  '  main  meal,'  consisting  of  partially  digested  eels,  and,  apparently,  some 
of  the  usual  crustaceans. 

The  young  ones  gobble  up  this  mass  in  an  extraordinarily  short  time,  and 
then,  their  interest  in  their  parent  having  temporarily  abated,  amuse  them- 
selves by  silently  searching  for  unnoticed  trifles  amongst  the  crevices  of  the 
nest. 

Meanwhile  their  parent,  well  satisfied  it  would  seem,  with  the  progress  of 
the  family,  stands  contentedly  on  the  edge  of  the  nest,  blinking  his  eyes,  and 
making  from  time  to  time  the  characteristic  '  clop,'  which  he  does  by  closing 
his  beak  with  a  snap. 

Then,  having  shaken  himself  heartily,  he  turns  his  head  towards  the 
marshes,  spreads  his  great  wings  and  sails  away. 

A  commotion  on  the  right  suggests  that  a  Heron  has  just  alighted,  and 
turning  to  the  right-hand  peephole,  we  peer  through  to  see  that  the  female 
Heron  with  the  eggs  in  her  nest  has  again  returned,  and  is  standing  on  her 
threshold  having  a  last  look  round  before  settling  down ;  probably  half 
expecting  to  see  another  sack  fall  from  the  observation  post ! 

However,  things  seem  normal,  and  she  steps  gracefully  forward,  and,  bend- 
ing her  legs,  sinks  gently  down  into  the  nest.  Then  once  more  the  yellow  eye 
is  fixed — at  least  so  it  seems* — upon  the  little  peephole. 

Here  it  may  perhaps  be  mentioned  that  there  exists  to-day  in  many  parts 
of  the  country  a  common  belief  that  the  Heron  constructs  its  nest  with  a  couple 
of  holes  through  which  the  legs  of  the  sitting  bird  may  be  allowed  to  hang. 
The  writer  has  sometimes  ventured  to  question  this  theory  with  some  of  its 
followers,  but  to  no  purpose  ;  for  the  argument  is  finally  settled  by  their  remark- 
ing that  the  birds  must  build  their  nests  in  this  way,  or  they  would  be  unable, 
on  account  of  their  long  legs,  to  sit  at  all ! 

About  an  hour  after  the  male  has  fed  and  left  the  nest  of  half-grown 
young  ones,  the  female  comes  to  feed  them.  One  knows  some  few  seconds 
before  she  reaches  the  nest  that  one  or  other  of  the  parent  birds  is  about  to 
arrive,  for  the  young  ones  begin  their  bobbing  movements  and  the  curious 
'  chun-chun  '  noise. 

When  she  at  length  pitches  on  the  side  of  the  nest,  we  are  indeed  amazed 
to  see  a  bird  so  badly  turned  out  at  this  time  of  the  year.  With  wet  head  and 
neck — evidently  from  a  very  recent  immersion  in  water— and  lacking  the  beauti- 
ful black  plumes  at  the  back  of  the  head,  she  really  reminds  one  very  much  of 


124  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

the  stuffed  specimens  which  were  once  so  popular  in  village  inns.  Her  plumage 
too  is  of  a  uniform  greyish  colour— very  different  from  the  splendid  greys, 
whites  and  blacks  of  the  male. 

But  at  least  she  provides  a  most  interesting  entertainment,  so  we  must 
not  be  too  critical. 

Having  gone  through  the  usual  throat-working  and  beak-stroking  pre- 
liminaries, she  lowers  her  head  for  the  last  time,  and  to  the  joyful  shrieks  of  her 
family,  disgorges  an  enormous  eel  partially  digested  at  the  head  end,  which 
falls  a  shiny,  inert  mass  on  to  the  nest. 

On  this  the  youngsters  fall  like  a  little  pack  of  wolves,  pecking  off  and 
swallowing  small  pieces  from  the  most  convenient  parts  :  each  one  working 
his  hardest  to  secure  the  lion's  share  before  it  is  too  late.  Ultimately  one  of 
them  seizes  the  body  of  the  eel  in  his  beak,  and  by  a  series  of  rapid  forward 
jerks  of  his  head,  attempts  to  work  it  down  his  throat — but  the  eel  is  altogether 
too  bulky,  and  the  young  heron,  in  despair,  drops  it  again  on  to  the  nest,  whence 
it  is  immediately  snatched  up  by  another  young  heron  who,  in  turn,  tries  his 
utmost  to  dispose  of  it. 

Not  yet  willing  to  give  in,  and  yet  thoroughly  exhausted  by  his  efforts, 
this  young  heron  is  forced  to  rest,  or  to  have  a  '  breather  '  at  least ;  and  over- 
balanced by  the  weight  of  the  eel,  he  does  so  whilst  propped  up  by  the  tip  of 
his  beak,  which  is  pressed  on  to  the  nest ! 

However,  none  of  them  are  able  to  manage  the  eel,  so  the  patient  mother 
(one  imagines  with  a  sigh  of  resignation)  once  more  picks  it  up,  swallows  it, 
and  retires  to  some  tree  near  by,  where  time  may  have  an  opportunity  of 
doing  the  work  of  partial  digestion.  After  about  an  hour  she  once  more 
returns  to  the  nest,  is  greeted  in  the  same  fashion  as  before,  and  produces  the 
same  eel  (considerably  smaller  this  time),  and  seems  much  relieved  when  one 
of  the  youngsters,  after  a  good  deal  of  effort,  manages  to  swallow  it. 

In  the  meantime  the  four  large  young  herons  on  the  nest  nearest  to  our 
observation  post,  have  spent  their  time  in  preening  themselves,  exercising  their 
wings,  and  watching  the  goings  on  in  other  nests,  but  have  never  become  in 
the  least  excited,  and  seemingly  take  no  notice  of  the  herons  overhead. 

Suddenly,  however,  a  change  comes  over  them.  With  wide-open  eyes,  raised 
crests  and  beaks  pointing  skywards,  they  gaze  above  them.  Slowly  their 
beaks  move  sideways,  and  again  upwards,  obviously  following  the  flight  of  an 
approaching  Heron. 

It  seems  incredible  that  they  can  be  able  to  distinguish  their  parents  from 
the  scores  of  herons  which  daily  pass  above  them,  and  yet  on  this  occasion 
they  have  certainly  made  no  mistake,  for  within  a  few  seconds,  welcomed 
by  the  squawkings  and  curtsyings  of  the  family,  a  beautiful  female  Heron 
alights  beside  them. 

Now  it  is  interesting  to  note  how  very  much  more  vigorously  these  almost 


(i)  The  young  herons  noisily  acclaim  the  arrival 
of  their  parent,  and 


2)  L>y  '"stroking"  her  beak  endeavour  to  induce 
her  to  disgorge. 


Having  tought  over,  and  swallowed  th< 
unsavoury-looking  mass. 


U)  '''hey,  one  by  one,  adjourn  to  the  neighbouring 
tree  tops. 


THE   HOME   LIFE   OF  THE  HERON  125 

fully  fledged  young  herons  endeavour  to  hurry  the  process  of  regurgitation. 
Almost  before  the  bird  has  time  to  steady  herself,  one  of  them,  reaching  up  to 
her  high-held  head,  and  literally  snatching  her  beak  in  his,  attempts  to  drag 
her  head  downwards  towards  the  nest. 

As  he  loosens  his  hold,  another,  making  a  rather  wild  shot,  seizes  her  head 
—at  about  the  region  of  the  eyes— in  his  beak,  and  almost  topples  the  patient 
creature  backwards  over  the  edge  of  the  nest  in  his  endeavours  to  induce  her 
to  disgorge. 

There  is  no  waiting  now  for  the  beak  to  be  lowered  before  it  is  seized  by 
one  or  other  of  the  young  ones.  At  whatever  elevation  her  head  is  held,  one 
of  them  makes  a  grab,  and  seizing  her  somewhere  near  the  base  of  the  beak, 
literally  forces  her  head  down  towards  the  nest. 

Whether  or  no  the  parent  bird  welcomes  this  noisy  demonstration,  as 
proving  that  the  family  is  healthy  and  gaining  in  strength,  it  is  impossible  to 
say.  She  certainly  seems  not  to  resent  this  rough  behaviour,  and  in  the  end — 
as  in  the  case  of  the  other  bird — disgorges  a  mass  of  food  on  to  the  nest,  the 
various  ingredients  of  which  the  young  herons  do  not  have  the  least  difficulty 
in  swallowing  ;  unless  of  course  it  should  be  snatched  from  the  very  mouth  of 
one  by  another,  or  is  seized  by  two  of  them  at  the  same  moment,  when  a  lively 
struggle  for  complete  ownership  ensues. 

At  all  events,  the  food  is  quickly  disposed  of.  The  old  heron  soon  makes 
her  departure,  and  the  young  ones,  having  collected  any  remains  from  the  floor 
of  the  nest,  prepare  to  take  life  comfortably  for  a  while.  The  writer  has  noticed 
that  whilst  the  young  herons  are  quite  small. — and  when  first  hatched  they  are 
not  naked,  but  are  protected  by  a  shaggy  greyish-coloured  coat — they  are  fed 
frequently  throughout  the  day  on  digested  food  which  is  taken  in  a  semi- 
liquid  state  from  the  tip  of  the  parent  heron's  beak — and  that  at  this  period 
one  or  other  of  the  old  herons  is  generally  on  the  nest,  either  brooding  the 
young  or  standing  by  their  side. 

But  as  the  family  develops  the  visits  of  the  parents  become  less  frequent, 
and  when  they  do  occur,  are  of  much  shorter  duration. 

Since,  in  order  to  witness  the  foregoing  incidents,  a  very  considerable 
time  has  been  spent  in  the  observation  post,  and  in  spite  of  frequent  changes 
of  position,  we  have  found  our  branch  seat  and  limited  quarters  increasingly 
uncomfortable,  we  now  decide,  with  cramped  muscles  and  aching  back,  to 
return  to  earth. 

Hanging  from  the  observation  post  to  the  ground  is  a  thin  line — and  tied 
to  the  end  of  it  a  collection  of  tin  cans,  slates,  and  branches— all  in  readiness 
to  jangle  and  clang  when  the  observer  jerks  the  string. 

For  it  perhaps  goes  without  saying  that  suddenly  to  appear  from  the 
observation  post  when  the  time  for  retiring  comes  round— and  when  perhaps 
one,  two  or  three  old  herons  may  be  on  their  nests  only  some  20  feet  away — 


126  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

would  perhaps  lead  to  one,  or  all  of  them  dashing  off  in  consternation,  and  being 
so  terrified  as  to  never  return. 

So,  in  order  to  safeguard  against  this  dreadful  possibility,  the  contrivance 
at  the  end  of  the  string  has  been  arranged,  and  before  beginning  to  descend 
the  tree,  it  is  necessary  to  continue  to  jerk  the  string  until  all  the  mature  herons 
leave  the  vicinity. 

At  the  first  clatter  from  below  the  Heron  with  the  eggs  instantly  raises 
her  head — for  a  few  seconds  she  remains  motionless,  perhaps  undecided  whether 
to  leave  or  stay— but  as  the  sound  increases  in  vehemence,  she  ultimately 
rises  to  her  feet,  stands  for  a  few  seconds  in  bold  relief  against  the  distant  tree- 
tops,  then  lowering  her  head,  she  spreads  her  wings,  and  aided  by  a  vigorous 
4  push  off,'  swings  away  out  of  sight. 


How  unsteadily  one  stands  when  on  earth  once  again  !  However,  it  is  a 
small  and  temporary  price  to  pay  for  such  an  interesting  experience. 

Before  closing  this  chapter,  something  ought  to  be  said  regarding  the  food 
upon  which  herons  normally  subsist. 

It  is  generally  impossible  to  tell  even  from  the  distance  of  a  few  feet,  exactly 
what  the  parent  heron  disgorges  for  the  family — amid  such  confusion  one  cannot 
hope  to  see  more  than  the  form  of  some  shining  object  as  it  is  vigorously  jerked 
down  its  captor's  throat. 

On  one  occasion,  however,  during  the  present  summer,  the  writer  was 
watching,  and  photographing,  a  female  heron  feeding  her  young — when  he 
noticed  that  one  of  the  youngsters  had  got  into  difficulties.  In  its  efforts  to 
secure  a  good  share  of  the  meal,  it  had  contrived  to  get  its  neck  encircled  by 
the  body  of  a  large  and  very  long  eel,  whose  head  was  already  some  few  inches 
down  the  heron's  throat. 

There  was  no  question  about  this  particular  item  of  the  meal,  particularly 
as,  since  it  had  become  stuck  to  the  young  heron's  neck  feathers,  there  was 
plenty  of  time  to  identify  it ! 

But  as  a  general  rule,  the  simplest,  as  well  as — may  we  say  ? — the  most 
humane  method  of  determining  the  Heron's  normal  food,  is  to  examine  whatever 
food  may  be  disgorged  by  the  larger  young  ones. 

If  one  should  climb  up  to  a  heron's  nest  in  which  there  should  chance  to 
be  a  family  of  well-grown  youngsters,  one — or  all — of  them  is  practically  certain 
to  disgorge  food,  possibly  for  the  reason  already  suggested. 

In  consequence  of  this  unique  habit,  it  is  a  good  plan  to  wear  the  oldest 
possible  clothes  when  such  a  calamity  is  possible  (an  umbrella  has  been  sug- 
gested !)  for  although  the  food  is  often  disgorged  on  to  the  nest  (and  later 
swallowed  again),  it  is  not  infrequently  distributed  overboard,  and  may  very 
possibly  land  upon  whatever  portion  of  the  climber  is  uppermost.  As  an 


THE  HOME   LIFE   OF   THE   HERON  127 

instance  of  which  I  may  quote  the  case  of  an  intimate  friend  of  mine,  who, 
having  climbed — after  very  considerable  difficulty — almost  up  to  a  heron's 
nest,  was  glancing  up  to  see  how  much  further  he  had  to  go,  when  one  of  the 
young  herons,  disturbed  no  doubt  by  the  violent  shakings  of  his  house,  and 
foreseeing  possible  danger,  decided  to  lighten  himself  in  case  of  an  emergency 
flight.  Most  of  the  cargo  landed  on  my  friend's  chest.  Half  a  semi-digested 
eel  and  a  portion  of  water  rat  sliding  into  the  opening  of  his  waistcoat ! 

But  after  the  young  herons  have  left  the  nest,  and  before  they  leave  for 
the  marshes  or  the  mud  flats,  they  spend  their  days  in  the  tops  of  the  trees 
in  or  around  the  Heronry,  and  return  to  the  nest  to  be  fed,  and  it  is  during 
this  stage  that  they  will  disgorge  upon  the  slightest  provocation,  and  it  is  not 
at  all  unusual  for  them  to  do  so  when  disturbed  merely  by  the  fact  of  one's 
walking  under  the  trees  in  which  they  are  sitting. 

At  about  the  end  of  June,  when  the  tops  of  the  trees  about  the  Heronry 
are,  as  it  were,  dotted  with  the  figures  of  young  herons,  the  resounding  '  flops  ' 
as  disgorged  eel,  or  fish,  or  water  rat  hits  the  ground,  remind  one  of  the  sound 
of  ripe  fruit  dropping  in  an  orchard  on  a  windy  day. 

If  these  objects  be  examined,  they  will  be  seen  to  vary  very  considerably 
— eels — big  and  small  there  are  in  plenty,  an  occasional  fish  will  be  found  (I 
have  discovered  carp,  a  few  flat  fish,  and  once  actually  the  undigested  half  of  a 
large  gold  fish),  water  voles  in  great  numbers ;  also  countless  moles,  shrimps, 
and  water  beetles  (the  latter  of  the  species  known  as  Dytiscus  Marginalis). 
Also  on  one  occasion,  the  whole  of  a  quite  fresh  Redshank — immature  but 
fully  fledged — was  thrown  up,  and  I  have  at  other  times  found  the  feathers 
of  other  birds  inside  the  Heron's  castings  or  pellets. 

For  the  Heron,  like  the  Hawks,  Owl  and  Crow  tribe,  produces  castings  of 
the  indigestible  portions  of  whatever  may  have  been  consumed,  and  the  examina- 
tion of  such  castings  is  further  proof  of  what  the  Heron  has  eaten. 

One  cannot  expect,  however,  to  discover  by  this  means  what  kinds  of  fish 
the  Heron  has  been  taking  (and  perhaps  by  doing  so  to  prove  that  he  does  not 
take  trout  !),  for  his  digestive  powers  enable  him  to  assimilate  the  bones,  scales, 
and  so  on  of  fish,  eels,  etc.,  and  the  castings  are  generally  composed  entirely 
of  the  fur  and  claws  of  water  voles  (or  water  rats)  and  moles,  with  a  few 
wing  cases  of  Dytiscus  Marginalis,  and  occasional  feathers. 

Having  ultimately  become  sufficiently  strong  on  the  wing,  the  young 
herons  leave  the  tree-top  world  of  their  youth,  and  generally  go  to  the  marsh- 
lands, where  they  quickly  learn  to  fend  for  themselves. 

On  the  marshes  close  to  a  Heronry  in  the  south-east  corner  of  England, 
one  may  frequently  see  towards  the  end  of  June,  or  during  July,  as  many  as 
forty  or  fifty  full-grown  young  herons,  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  semi-dried 
marsh,  or  in  the  water  at  the  edge  of  a  dyke. 

Early  in  the  morning,  or  towards  evening,  they  may  be  seen  walking  in  a 


128  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

slow  stately  manner  amongst  the  grass,  carefully  searching  the  ground  for 
anything  in  the  way  of  food. 

Suddenly  one  of  them  comes  to  a  standstill,  and  with  head  lowered  and 
beak  almost  horizontal  with  the  ground,  remains  for  a  short  time  absolutely 
still,  before  striking ;  instinctively,  as  it  were,  assuming  the  pose  that  the  mature 
heron  adopts  whilst  hesitating  before  striking  at  a  fish  or  eel. 

It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  the  Heron,  with  beak  held  horizontally,  is  able 
to  look  down  on  to  any  object  beneath  it.  For  since  the  eyes  protrude  con- 
siderably over  the  portion  of  the  base  of  the  bill  that  runs  beneath  them,  and 
the  part  of  the  skull  immediately  above  the  eyes  rather  overhangs,  the  bird 
is  able  to  look  down  with  both  eyes  at  an  object  directly  beneath  it,  whilst  it 
cannot  look  directly  upwards  without  turning  the  head  on  one  side. 

When  the  young  herons  have  finally  left  for  the  feeding-grounds  one  can, 
now  that  there  is  no  longer  fear  of  scaring  them,  climb  up  to  one  of  the  nests 
and  examine  it  at  close  quarters.  Extraordinarily  well  constructed,  it  is  often 
— when  built  up  year  after  year — more  than  2  feet  deep,  and  sometimes  measures 
as  much  as  4  feet  across.  It  is  made  of  quite  large  sticks — some  of  them  as 
thick  as,  and  longer  than,  a  soldier's  '  swagger  stick  ' — with  an  inner  lining  of 
small  twigs,  roots,  or  pieces  of  dry  bracken  stems  :  the  whole  structure  being 
so  strong  as  to  support  easily  the  weight  of  a  human  being. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Birds    and    Artillery    Fire 

WHEN  one  looks  back  upon  the  early  days  of  the  war,  and  remembers 
the  plight  of  the  unfortunate  people  whose  modest  homes  were 
situated  in  what  was  known  as  the  'Battle  Area,'  one  is  filled  with 
admiration  for  those  who,  full  of  confidence  in  the  Allied  Armies,  and  the 
belief  that  help  would  come  at  any  moment,  clung  to  their  homes  until  the  last 
moment. 

I  can  think  of  nothing  more  hopelessly  pathetic  than  the  little  rooms, 
littered  with  half-finished  lace-work  and  children's  toys,  which  had  been  so 
suddenly — so  tragically — evacuated  :  and  which  were  so  soon  to  be  blown  to 
atoms. 

Somehow  there  seems  to  be  a  similarity  between  the  indomitable  hopeful- 
ness of  these  people  in  refusing  to  leave  the  places  in  which  their  lives  had  been 
spent — and  the  tenacity  of  the  birds  of  such  districts,  in  clinging,  in  spite  of 
all,  to  their  ancestral  breeding  areas.  For  any  of  us  who  were  in  the  firing-line 
for  any  length  of  time  during  those  fateful  days,  and  who  chanced  to  take  an 
interest  in  wild  creatures,  will  remember  that  the  din  of  a  bombardment,  or 
the  crackle  of  rifle  fire,  had  little  effect  on  the  birds  of  the  neighbourhood,  and 
that  it  was  rather  owing  to  the  ultimate  lack  of  cover  that  they  betook  them- 
selves to  more  peaceful  quarters. 

How  uncanny  it  seemed,  in  the  spring  of  1915,  to  hear  the  Golden  Oriole 
calling  cheerfully — almost  defiantly — from  the  top  of  a  shattered  tree  stand- 
ing amidst  the  ruins  of  what  had  once  been  Hooge  Chateau  ;  or  to  listen  to  the 
song  of  the  nightingale  on  those  summer  evenings,  and  to  mark  how  it  grew  in 
vehemence  as  the  whine  and  crash  of  'whiz-bang '  and  *  heavy '  grew  in  intensity. 

And  then  the  swallows  and  their  nests  in  the  smashed  barns  on  the  out- 
skirts of  St.  Eloi :  the  magpies  at  Kemmel,  and  a  host  of  others.  None  of 
them  breed  in  those  places  now.  No  oak-tree  remains  to  conceal,  with  its 
verdant  foliage,  the  suspended  nest  of  the  Golden  Oriole,  or  the  glorious  colour- 
ing of  the  bird  itself. 

Deep  under  the  fouled  earth  are  buried  the  rafters  on  which  the  swallows 

129  R 


130  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

nested  :  and  only  such  birds  as  the  partridge  and  the  lark — fortunate  under 
such  conditions  in  being  supplied  with  ample  cover  in  the  shape  of  bushes  and 
grasses— continue  to  frequent  the  land  as  they  did  in  happier  days. 

Those  are  strange  days  to  think  of  now — but  days  with,  after  all,  certain 
redeeming  features,  and  days  that  I,  for  one,  shall  not  easily  forget. 

In  my  capacity  as  '  sniper  '  I  perhaps  had  unusual  opportunities  of  noting 
and  observing  the  various  birds  with  which  the  firing-line  abounded,  and  on 
one  occasion  at  least,  the  chance  of  inspecting  at  close  quarters  a  nest  which  I 
had  never  seen  before. 

We  had  started  out  for  the  day — May  31,  1915 — just  before  dawn,  and  as 
usual  had  stopped  at  a  little  pond  just  behind  our  firing-line,  where  we  invaii- 
ably  had  the  only  wash  of  the  day,  before  proceeding  on  our  journey. 

Even  the  pond  and  its  vicinity  was  full  of  life — a  hare  started  from  under 
our  feet  as  we  approached  it,  and  a  little  further  on  a  brace  of  partridges  rose 
with  a  whirr  of  wings. 

It  was  a  wonderfully  quiet  morning  ;  and  the  pond  looked  extraordinarily 
beautiful  in  the  first  light  of  dawn.  On  one  side  of  it  was  a  grand  old  hawthorn 
bush,  whose  drooping  brandies  gently  touched  the  water  ;  whilst  in  the  centre 
was  a  tiny  grass-covered  island  supporting  an  old  willow-tree,  at  whose  foot  was 
a  moorhen's  nest  containing  egg-shells  that  suggested  tiny  moorhens  recently 
hatched.  This  little  family  seemed  to  be  doing  well,  for  we  saw  them  later  on, 
paddling  along  in  the  wake  of  their  mother,  who  proudly,  and  with  flirting 
tail,  led  the  way.  Sometimes  too,  they  might  be  seen  pecking  about  amongst 
the  rushes  at  the  further  side  of  the  pond,  or  clambering  out  of  the  water  to 
rest  awhile  on  the  little  island. 

In  the  hawthorn  bush  a  pigeon  was  sitting  on  a  couple  of  eggs ;  she  had 
quite  frightened  us  a  few  days  before  by  suddenly  dashing  out  of  the  bush  in 
that  noisy,  clattering  way  that  wood-pigeons  have! 

As  it  grew  lighter  we  crept  forward  behind  a  hedge  that  was  the  only 
available  cover,  and  drew  nearer  to  our  destination,  which,  in  fact,  was  the 
remains  of  what  had  once  been  a  dairy  farm.  Dead  cows,  calves,  and  an 
occasional  pig  were  lying  about  everywhere.  The  farm-house,  the  dairy,  and 
most  of  the  outbuildings  were  burnt  to  the  ground  ;  the  only  building  still 
standing  being  a  cow-shed  known  as  '  Sniper's  Barn.' 

To  reach  this  cow-shed  was  our  object,  and  to  accomplish  it  we  crawled 
carefully  along  the  foot  of  the  hedge  for  some  distance,  in  order  to  go  unseen 
over  a  slight  ridge  before  getting  on  to  our  feet,  and  advancing  in  a  crouching 
position  towards  the  mass  of  bricks,  once  forming  an  outhouse  to  the  farm, 
which  loomed  indistinctly  before  us  in  the  grey  light. 

At  this  point  it  was  necessary  to  pass  carefully  between  the  ruins  and  the 
hedge  on  the  left ;  then  on  over  a  decomposing  cow's  body  (being  careful  to 
hold  the  breath  at  this  point),  until  the  shell-hole  in  the  wall  on  the  right  was 


BIRDS   AND  ARTILLERY  FIRE  131 

reached  :  through  this,  and  across  a  heap  of  bricks  and  mortar  to  another  shell- 
hole  which  led  into  the  cow-shed. 

It  was  necessary  to  be  extremely  careful  in  getting  through  this  shell-hole 
into  the  cow-shed,  for  through  the  door  on  the  right  the  German  trenches  could 
be  plainly  seen,  and  should  the  enemy  have  any  reason  to  believe  that  the  place 
was  occupied  they  would  be  certain  to  shell  it. 

The  further  end  of  the  cow-shed  was  facing  the  enemy,  and  it  was  from  here 
that  we  endeavoured  to  fulfil  our  particular  mission.  We  had  two  loop-holes 
in  use — one  that  looked  out  on  to  the  German  lines  immediately  in  front  of  us, 
and  the  other,  that  we  had  recently  constructed  by  removing  a  brick,  was  so 
placed  that  it  was  possible  to  see  portions  of  their  trenches  on  our  right. 

Originally  the  floor  above  had  been  used  by  the  French  machine-gunners, 
as  the  empty  rounds  testified,  but  it  could  not  be  used  in  our  time,  as  the 
front  of  it  had  been  blown  out  by  a  shell-burst.  I  went  to  investigate  the 
position  one  day,  but  found  that  the  advantages  of  the  extra  height  were  not 
very  considerable.  However,  I  did  find,  in  addition  to  the  empty  rounds,  a 
nest  of  kittens  that  were  as  wild  as  hawks. 

Affixed  to  one  of  the  beams  in  our  cow-shed  was  a  swallow's  nest,  shown 
in  one  of  the  illustrations,  in  which  were  four  or  five  eggs.  The  swallow  eventually 
grew  quite  accustomed  to  us,  and  would  sit  composedly  upon  her  eggs  with- 
out taking  the  least  notice  of  any  firing  that  might  be  going  on. 

Strange  indeed  it  seemed  that  in  such  surroundings  all  these  creatures 
should  be  thus  living,  hunting,  rearing  their  young,  and  behaving  generally 
as  though  things  were  quite  normal.  A  blackbird  once  actually  built  her  nest 
in  a  stack  from  which  a  great  deal  of  sniping  was  done,  and  even  succeeded  in 
hatching  her  young — only,  unfortunately,  the  enemy  shelled  the  stack  and  set 
it  on  fire. 

This  particular  morning  happened  to  be  unusually  quiet,  and  we  wondered 
if  such  a  desirable  state  of  affairs  might  be  accounted  for  by  a  relief  having 
taken  place  in  the  enemy  lines  during  the  night.  But  the  morning  mist  had  not 
yet  cleared,  and  we  could  rest  assured  that  we  should  get  plenty  of '  strafing ' 
quite  soon  enough. 

I  was  standing  at  the  left-hand  loop-hole,  trying  to  distinguish  movement 
in  the  enemy's  lines,  when  my  attention  was  attracted  by  the  song  of  a  bird 
that  sounded  somehow  familiar— and  yet  I  could  not  place  it.  Surely  I 
had  heard  it  at  home— but— where  ?  Loud  and  insistent  it  came  in  short 
snatches,  lasting  only  for  a  couple  of  seconds  or  so,  and  with  but  a  short  interval 
before  it  was  again  repeated.  It  could  not  be  a  Missel  Thrush,  and  yet— it  was 
extraordinarily  like  it.  What  could  it  be  ?  Suddenly  it  dawned  upon  me  that 
the  song  was  none  other  than  that  of  the  Golden  Oriole— a  bird  I  had  always 
hoped  to  meet  at  home,  but  had  always  failed  to  locate. 

The  song  came  from  the  direction  of  a  wood  on  our  left,  from  which  a  line 


132  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE  TREE   TOPS 

of  trees  ran  towards  the  German  trenches  ;  one  could  see  the  line  of  trees  plainly 
enough  through  the  left-hand  loop-hole,  though  the  wood  itself  was  just  too 
far  back  to  be  visible.  For  the  first  time  during  my  military  career  my  '  bird 
interest '  was  really  awakened.  What  feelings  that  song  would  have  aroused 
had  it  been  heard  in  the  peaceful  woods  at  home  ! 

Since  things  were  quiet,  we  decided  to  try  to  reach  the  wood  without 
being  seen  by  the  enemy,  for  my  companion,  although  not  having  the  least 
interest  in  birds,  was  quite  enthusiastic  at  the  idea,  and  we  accordingly  set  out 
OH  our  journey. 

It  was,  first  of  all,  necessary  to  return  to  the  pond,  whence  we  could 
crawl  along  some  old  French  trenches  to  the  left,  and  behind  a  high  hedge  which 
led  to  a  pool  in  the  corner  of  a  field  behind  the  wood,  from  where  we  could 
enter  the  wood  without  the  risk  of  being  seen. 

Half  an  hour  later  found  us  creeping  through  the  tall  oaks  and  under- 
growth of  the  wood  towards  the  Golden  Oriole,  who  still  continued  to  pour  out 
his  disconnected,  though  very  beautiful,  little  song. 

As  we  crept  forward  a  nightingale  was  singing  on  our  left,  and  a  dove 
noisily  left  her  flimsy  nest  of  twigs,  through  which  two  eggs  could  be  seen- 
Whilst  a  jay,  more  perturbed  by  our  presence  than  by  shell-fire,  flew  shrieking 
ahead  of  us.  And  the  Oriole  meanwhile  sang  serenely  on. 

Yet  this  wood  was  shelled  every  day  by  the  enemy.  Several  dead  cows  were 
lying  in  the  track  through  it,  whilst  many  of  the  trees  were  smashed  by  the 
explosions,  their  branches  lying  everywhere — torn  from  the  trunk  as  though  by 
some  giant  hand  ;  and  every  now  and  then  a  rifle  bullet  would  crack  through  the 
branches  above. 

For  a  while,  though,  we  had  forgotten  the  war,  for  our  eyes  were  straining  to 
catch  sight  of  the  Oriole's  yellow  breast,  which  harmonizes  so  well  with  the 
oak's  sunlit  foliage. 

And  at  last  we  saw  him — a  glorious  bird  with  bright  yellow  breast,  perched 
on  the  topmost  branch  of  one  of  the  oaks — and  within  10  feet  of  him  the 
nest— over  the  edge  of  which  the  female's  tail  was  protruding! 

Photography  of  this  nest  was  somewhat  awkward,  as  the  tree  which  had 
to  be  climbed  in  order  to  get  a  proper  view  was  not  at  all  conveniently  shaped — 
and  for  part  of  the  journey  to  its  upper  branches  would  be  in  view  of  the 
German  lines. 

However  things  might  have  been  a  very  great  deal  worse,  particularly  as, 
just  as  we  were  crawling  back  to  our  cow-shed,  the  Germans  started  a  bombard- 
ment of  the  wood. 

We  quite  frequently  encountered  various  forms  of  wild  life  on  these  expedi- 
tions. One  day,  as  we  were  crawling  stealthily  along  a  hedge,  a  female  Sparrow 
Hawk,  in  hot  pursuit  of  a  thrush,  almost  dashed  into  us.  Whilst  on  another 
occasion  we  came  upon  a  partridge  that  had  been  hit  by  a  stray  German  bullet 


THE 

SNIPING 
POSITION 


THK   S\V,\1,I.O\VS    NKST- 


ANU   THK   VIEW  THROUOH   THK    LOOPHOLE 

[The  German  trenches  may  be  seen  in  the  middle  distance.] 


BIRDS   AND   ARTILLERY  FIRE  133 

and  I  remember  at  St.  Eloi  seeing  a  blackbird  drop  dead  from  a  tree  under  which 
a  shell  had  burst.  One  wonders  how  many  other  creatures  suffered  the  same 
fate. 

Kestrels  and  Little  Owls  were  exceedingly  common  in  the  firing-line,  particu- 
larly on  the  Somme,  although  I  cannot  think  they  nested  in  that  land  of 
unrest — for  there  were  no  trees  and  no  buildings  that  would  serve  as  nesting- 
places. 

The  wily  magpie  also  stuck  nobly  to  his  accustomed  breeding  haunts, 
and  we  used  to  watch  a  pair  of  them,  not  far  from  the  ruins  of  Ypres,  building 
their  nest  at  the  top  of  a  battered  tree  within  200  yards  of  our  front-line 
trenches. 

Considering  that  the  war  was  presumably  over  in  the  late  autumn  of  1918, 
and  that  eighteen  months  later  our  recollections  of  its  ghastliness  had  already 
been  partially  dimmed,  I  was  perhaps  justified,  whilst  rook-hawking  in  the 
wide  open  spaces  of  the  West  of  England,  in  experiencing  a  kind  of  minor  shock 
when  I  suddenly  found  myself  gazing  through  my  glasses  at  a  collection  of 
shell-torn  trees  that  recalled  about  as  vividly  as  anything  could  recall  in  that 
peaceful  spring  of  1920,  the  shattered  remains  of  Thiepval  Wood  in  1916. 

Away  over  the  chalky  undulations — so  absolutely  typical  of  the  Somme 
country,  and  silhouetted  against  an  evening  sky — the  gaunt  stems  looked  curi- 
ously silent  and  deserted.  And  yet  .  .  .  could  those  dark  lumps  amongst 
the  remaining  branches  be  nests  of  some  kind  ? 

A  closer  examination  showed  that,  far  from  being  silent  and  deserted — 
and  in  spite  of  heavy  Artillery  fire  two  or  three  days  a  week — the  trees  were 
crowded  with  busy,  noisy  life.  For  on  the  top  of  their  bare  stems,  or  among 
their  broken  limbs,  a  colony  of  Rooks,  clinging  to  the  accustomed  nesting-site 
with  a  tenacity  that  is  typical  of  their  race,  had  placed  their  nests. 

Within  500  yards  were  undamaged  trees  in  plenty — trees,  one  would 
imagine,  that  could  offer  every  inducement  to  a  pair  of  matrimonially  inclined 
Rooks — but  they  were  bare  of  nests. 

Oddly  enough,  some  trees,  such  as  one  generally  finds  in  the  garden,  and 
which,  in  fact,  at  one  time  formed  part  of  the  little  farmstead  that  stood  on  the 
spot,  were  positively  crammed  with  Rooks'  nests. 

It  would  seem  that  the  Rooks,  obeying  the  homing  instinct  which  is  so 
strongly  developed  in  many  birds,  preferred  to  construct  their  nests  amidst 
the  branches  of  any  tree  or  bush  that  happened  to  grow  within  the  favoured 
area,  rather  than  take  advantage  of  the  shelter  of  tall  beeches  and  pines  that 
were  within  such  easy  reach. 

For  not  only  were  fruit-trees  encumbered  with  the  great  piles  of  branches 
and  twigs,  but  even  elder  and  yew  bushes  (one  cannot  dignify  them  by  calling 
them  trees)  were  similarly  utilized. 

Certainly  this  was  the  most  extraordinary  Rookery  that  the  writer  has  yet 


134  WILD  LIFE  IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

encountered.     Some  of  the  nests  were  so  low  that  their  foundations  could  be 
touched  with  the  upstretched  arm  as  one  stood  beneath. 

Most  of  them  had  been  relieved  of  their  eggs  by  the  oologically  inclined 
visitors  to  the  place,  or  perhaps  by  the  enthusiastic  followers  of  a  game  known 
as  *  hop-egg.' 

In  one  case  some  one  had  taken  the  trouble  to  climb  up  to  a  nest  in  an  elder 
bush,  and  to  fill  it  with  half  bricks,  having  first  thrown  out  the  unfortunate 
young  Rooks  !  i 

The  occupants  of  the  taller  trees  had  not,  of  course,  suffered  this  sort  of 
hostile  treatment,  though  even  they  had  not  got  through  altogether  unscathed  ; 
for  some  of  the  nests  had  been  hit  by  pieces  of  flying  shrapnel,  whilst  beneath 
the  trees  lay  the  forms  of  several  dead  Rooks.  Caught  up  in  the  branches  at 
the  edge  of  his  nest,  a  male  Rook  was  hanging.  Killed  no  doubt  as  he  attended 
to  the  business  of  nest-building,  or  the  needs  of  his  sitting  mate,  his  body 
remained  swinging  in  the  breeze — a  warning,  one  would  think,  to  all  ot^er 
Rooks  to  betake  themselves  elsewhere. 

But  so  complex  is  the  mentality  of  the  wily  Rook  that  his  neighbours 
persisted  in  their  determination  to  lay  their  eggs  and  rear  their  young  within 
a  few  yards  of  his  remains ;  whilst  his  mate,  quite  unruffled  by  the  proximity 
of  her  late  husband's  body,  continued  to  sit  closely  upon  her  five  eggs. 

Photographically,  these  nests  in  the  taller  trees  were  without  doubt  by 
far  the  most  promising.  Little  or  no  foliage  existed  to  hide  them,  or  cause 
those  unhappy  white  and  black  patches  on  an  otherwise  satisfactory  print ;  and, 
in  addition,  no  loafing  troops — hard  put  to  it  to  invent  an  amusement  for  a 
Sunday  afternoon — would  be  likely  to  interfere  with  them ;  and  lastly,  with 
good  luck,  the  camera  might  be  placed  at  such  an  elevation  as  would  include  a 
background  of  the  distant  downs  instead  of  the  sky. 

So  the  writer  climbed  a  suitable-looking,  though  (since  a  shell  had  passed 
clean  through  the  centre  of  the  stem)  somewhat  shaky  beech-tree,  and  looked 
across  on  to  a  collection  of  nests  which  seemed  to  offer  unusual  possibilities  from 
a  pictorial  point  of  view. 

Photography  from  this  position  was  not  attempted  until  May  7,  and  then 
not  until  1  p.m.,  although  the  writer  had  made  an  early  start.  For  in  the 
meantime  he  had  been  treated  to  an  Artillery  demonstration — the  shells  bursting 
with  such  accuracy  and  frequency  amongst  the  trees  supporting  the  Rooks' 
homes  as  to  suggest  that  at  the  termination  of  the  bombardment  there  would 
be  nothing  but  debris  left. 

At  length,  however,  the  bombardment  died  down,  and  through  the  clearing 
smoke  the  trees  once  more  stood  out — apparently  none  the  worse  for  their 
shaking. 

The  writer  then  learnt  that  the  Battery  had  finished  firing  for  the  day  : 
that  the  F.O.O.  was  coming  in,  and  that  they  were  already  'packin  up.' 


THE   NEST  OF 

THE  ST.   ELOI 

GOLDEN    ORIOLE 


BIRDS   AND  ARTILLERY   FIRE  135 

Cheered  by  the  news,  the  journey  towards  the  Rookery  was  resumed, 
and  once  again  visions  of  the  Somme  were  recalled.  The  little  valley  leading 
to  the  wood  was  really  exactly  like  the  numerous  '  Death  Valleys  '  of  France  ; 
whilst  the  freshly  torn  earth  and  pungent  smell  of  H.E.  suggested  derelict 
rifles,  equipment,  and  German  tin  hats. 

The  trees  themselves  had  suffered  little  from  the  recent  hammering,  though 
more  branches  had  been  torn  off,  fresh  shell  splinters  were  sticking  in  their  sides? 
and  strongly  smelling  shell-holes  had  made  their  appearance  amongst  their 
twisted  roots.  Some  two  hours  later,  the  camera  was  fixed  in  position,  and  duly 
focused ;  the  string  attached  (what  a  business  that  is  without  the  help  of  a 
companion  !),  and  the  dark  slide  withdrawn  in  readiness  for  an  exposure. 

The  writer,  not  wishing  to  disturb  the  Rooks  unnecessarily,  had  decided  to 
retire  to  a  shell-hole  for  a  while  before  trying  for  a  picture  ;  and,  seated  there, 
was  comfortably  engaged  in  partaking  of  luncheon  and  watching  the  Rooks, 
when  he  was  rudely  awakened  to  the  disagreeable  realities  of  life  by  a  most 
unexpected  feeling.  This  feeling  was  caused  by  a  dull  '  bomp  '  in  the  distance, 
followed  by  the  slow,  slithering  whine  of  an  approaching  '  heavy.' 

For  a  short  moment  that  '  hollow  feeling  '  was  experienced  ;  and  then 
the  shell,  passing  away  to  the  left,  exploded  on  an  adjacent  range  with  an 
almighty  '  Ber-rang  '  and  the  shriek  of  flying  fragments. 

All  being  well,  the  business  of  photographing  the  Rooks  proceeded — the 
results — some  of  which  appear  on  these  pages — showing  that  the  Rooks  returned 
to  their  nests  as  though  nothing  untoward  had  occurred  :  that  they  behaved 
in  fact  very  much  as  the  birds  of  France  and  Belgium  behaved  before  they  were 
literally  driven  away  by  the  utter  devastation  of  their  haunts. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Some    Strange    Incidents 

A  VOLUME  of  this  kind  would  perhaps  be  incomplete  without 
some  reference  to  the  various  phenomena — regarding  the  habits  and 
mentality  of  wild  creatures — which  have  from  time  to  time  come 
under  the  writer's  notice. 

For,  strangely  enough,  such  deviations  from  the  normal  would  often 
seem  to  be  some  indication  as  to  whether  the  creatures  involved  are  capable 
of  exercising  actual  thought,  or  whether  they  merely  obey  a  blind  instinct. 

Perhaps  the  most  curious  case  was  that  brought  to  my  notice  in  the  spring 
of  1913,  which  concerned  a  pair  of  Robins  and  a  pair  of  Pied  Wagtails  who 
had  co-operated  in  building,  inhabiting,  and  rearing  their  young  in  the  same 
nest.  Although  it  concerns  other  than  tree-nesting  birds,  it  is  so  remarkable 
as  to  be  worthy  of  mention  here. 

Instances  of  a  pair  of  birds — in  addition  to  the  gregarious  varieties — 
occupying  the  nest  which  actually  adjoins  that  of  their  neighbours  are  not 
uncommon ;  neither  is  it  unusual  for  one  pair  of  birds  to  oust  another  from 
the  home  they  have  so  laboriously  prepared,  and  perhaps  to  sit  upon  the 
eggs  of  the  original  owner,  in  addition  to  their  own.  Whilst  cases  in  which  a 
bird  deposits  her  egg,  or  eggs,  in  the  nest  of  another  are  quite  common. 

But,  as  far  as  my  experience  goes,  the  Robin- Wagtail  episode  is  unique ; 
in  fact,  had  the  news  of  it  emanated  from  a  less  reliable  source  than  Captain 
Douglas  English,  I  am  afraid  that  I  should  not  have  believed  it ;  and  should 
probably  have  accounted  for  the  mixed  eggs  by  supposing  that  some  one  had 
been  trying  an  experiment. 

However,  investigation  proved  that  the  nest  actually  was  tenanted  by 
two  pairs  of  birds,  all  of  whom  seemed  anxious  to  share  the  domestic  respon- 
sibilities. 

When  we  first  arrived  at  the  place,  we  found  that  the  female  Robin  was 
sitting  on  the  nest.  We  quietly  put  her  off,  and  her  departure  revealed  two 
newly  hatched  young  Wagtails,  one  newly  hatched  young  Robin,  one  Wagtail's 
egg,  and  two  Robins'  eggs.  We  were  told  that  the  nest  originally  contained 
four  eggs  of  the  Robin,  and  four  of  the  Wagtail,  but  that  one  of  each 

137  S 


138  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

kind    had    disappeared— perhaps    to  swell  the  collection   of   some    budding 
oologist. 

We  examined  the  nest  carefully,  and  it  certainly  seemed  a  hybrid  structure, 
being  composed  of  dead  ivy  leaves,  some  grass,  one  or  two  tufts  of  red  flannel, 
and  an  inner  lining  of  wool  and  fine  grasses. 

After  our  inspection  we  retired  to  a  bank  a  few  yards  away,  and,  sitting 
down  to  await  events,  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  at  least  seeing  the  Robin 
return  to  the  business  of  incubation.  But  of  the  Wagtail  we  saw  not  a  sign, 
although  we  waited  for  some  hour  or  so.  In  fact  we  at  length  began  to  grow 
sceptical  and  to  consider  the  possibility  of  some  one  having  placed  the  Wagtail's 
eggs  in  the  Robin's  nest  for  fun,  and  the  chance  of  the  Wagtail  having  been 
seen  near  the  nest  in  search  of  flies.  And  yet  there  remained  the  fact  that 
the  story  of  both  birds  occupying  the  nest  had  been  told  to  us  by  three  inde- 
pendent eye-witnesses  as  to  whose  bona  fides  there  could  be  no  possible  question. 

In  the  evening  of  the  following  day  my  brother  and  I  again  visited  the 
place,  and  to  our  delight — and  I  must  confess  astonishment — found  both  the 
Robin  and  the  Wagtail  sitting  on  the  nest :  the  Robin  underneath,  and  the  Wag- 
tail rather  to  the  side  of  the  nest  and  covering  the  Robin's  tail. 

On  our  third  visit  we  found  that  all  four  birds — the  pair  of  Wagtails,  and 
the  pair  of  Robins  were  engaged  in  feeding  the  curious  family,  and  delivering 
the  food  indiscriminately  as  far  as  we  could  make  out.  On  one  occasion  both 
Wagtails  were  on  the  nest  together,  and  had  the  situation  been  better  lighted 
we  should  have  had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  photographs  ;  for  in  the  course 
of  an  hour  the  Wagtails  came  to  the  nest  thirteen  times. 

The  Robins  seemed  very  shy  of  their  partners,  and  although  they  occasionally 
settled  for  a  moment  on  the  nest  and  hurriedly  poked  some  food  down  the  first 
gaping  mouth  that  presented  itself,  they  were  obviously  in  a  state  of  nervous 
tension. 

On  the  following  day  it  was  the  Robins,  curiously  enough,  which  were 
chiefly  in  evidence,  for  they  paid  fifteen  visits  to  the  nest  between  six  and 
six-thirty,  whilst  the  Wagtails  only  put  in  an  appearance  three  times — and 
that  during  a  period  of  nearly  three  hours. 

Next  day,  like  the  preceding  one,  turned  out  to  be  a  Robin  day  :  for 
although  we  watched  the  nest  for  some  hours,  and  saw  the  Robins  continually 
feeding  the  young  ones,  we  did  not  once  see  the  Wagtails  visit  the  nest.  They 
hovered  quite  near  to  it,  and  dashed  like  little  hawks  at  the  Robins  when  they 
saw  them  offering  food  to  the  youngsters. 

It  was  curious  to  see  Robins  reduced  to  such  a  state  of  fear  as  were  those 
two,  for  when  the  Wagtails  perched  near  the  nest  they  kept  at  a  prudent  dis- 
tance, and  waited  until  the  coast  was  clear  before  venturing  to  feed  the  young 
ones. 

Unhappily  this  strange  '  menage '  was  fated  to  an  untimely  end  :    for  a 


SOME   STRANGE   INCIDENTS  139 

cat  pulled  the  nest  out,  and  carried  off  its  helpless  occupants.  And,  incidentally 
by  so  doing,  prevented  any  further  observation  of  the  most  remarkable  episode 
in  bird-life  that  I  have  ever  witnessed. 

A  curious  instance  of  a  Carrion  Crow's  determination  to  rear  a  normal 
family  rather  than  a  single  young  one  is  contained  in  the  following  account, 
which  concerns  a  nest  which  I  discovered  in  the  days  when  I  was  an  ardent  egg 
collector. 

On  April  23,  I  had  climbed  to  a  Crow's  nest,  over  the  edge  of  which  I 
had  seen  the  Crow's  tail  protruding,  and  to  my  joy  found  it  contained  four 
extraordinarily  beautiful  eggs. 

These,  I  need  hardly  say,  I  took  away  with  me,  and  flattered  myself  that 
I  had  secured  a  particularly  fine  clutch.  On  May  6  of  the  same  year  I  again 
passed  under  the  elm-tree,  and  once  more  noticed  the  tip  of  the  Crow's  tail 
projecting  from  the  nest.  Yet  again  I  set  to  work  to  climb  the  tree  to  see  if  she 
had  laid  a  second  clutch,  and  found  that  the  nest  this  time  actually  contained 
five  eggs. 

This  seemed  to  me  incomprehensible,  for  when  a  bird  has  its  first  clutch 
of  eggs  destroyed,  or  taken,  it  almost  invariably  lays  a  smaller  clutch — if  a 
second  trial  is  attempted. 

On  returning  home,  however,  I  blew  the  eggs,  and  found  that  whilst  four 
of  them  were  newly  laid,  the  fifth  was  hard-set — proving  that  the  Crow,  dis- 
satisfied with  the  idea  of  a  single  youngster,  had  during  the  fortnight  that  had 
elapsed,  produced  another  four  eggs — making  the  total  equal  to  that  of  the 
original  number  laid. 

And  at  about  the  same  time  I  found  a  Missel  Thrush's  nest  containing  eggs 
whose  history  to  me  at  least,  seemed  inexplicable.  The  number  of  eggs  which 
the  Missel  Thrush  lays  is  normally  four  ;  this  nest  however  contained  no  less 
than  eight  eggs,  four  of  which  were  quite  fresh ;  two  were  on  the  point  of 
hatching,  and  two  were  bad.  One  can  only  suppose  that  either  the  Missel 
Thrush  was  disturbed,  and  became  sceptical  as  to  whether  the  original  four 
would  hatch,  and  so  laid  a  second  consignment — or  that  the  original  female 
was  killed ;  and  the  male  procured  another,  who  added  her  eggs  to  those 
already  in  the  nest,  and  incubated  them  all. 

The  second  solution  is  not  very  probable  however,  for  in  that  case  four 
of  the  eggs  would  in  all  probability  have  been  bad. 

And  whilst  on  the  subject  of  Missel  Thrushes,  I  should  like  to  relate  an 
incident  concerning  one  of  them — an  incident  which  also  illustrates  the  extra- 
ordinary speed  with  which  a  Sparrow  Hawk  dashes  at  his  victim. 

I  had  noticed  in  a  low  oak-tree,  a  Missel  Thrush's  nest,  and  from  below 
could  see  that  it  was  littered  with  small  feathers.  Supposing  that  the  bird 
had  died  whilst  covering  her  eggs,  and  that  the  feathers  had  become  detached 
from  her  decomposing  body.  I  climbed  up  to  investigate— to  find  that  the 


140  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

unhappy  Missel  Thrush  was  indeed  dead  on  her  eggs,  minus  her  head,  which 
had  obviously  been  swept  clean  from  her  body. 

Those  who  have  seen  a  Sparrow  Hawk  come  down  like  a  flash,  pick  up  a 
bird  in  its  stride,  and  carry  it  away,  will  realize  that  it  is  the  only  creature 
who  could  have  done  this  thing.  So  instantaneous  must  have  been  the  death 
of  the  Missel  Thrush  that  her  body  had  not  moved ;  it  was  covering  the  eggs 
with  slightly  spread  wings,  and  puffed-out  breast  feathers,  exactly  as  though  it 
were  alive. 

Such  tragedies  not  infrequently  occur ;  and  I  am  reminded  of  an  instance 
which  occurred  during  the  past  summer,  whilst  I  was  cinematographing  the 
Rooks. 

I  was  walking  near  the  Rookery  one  afternoon  towards  the  end  of 
May,  when  I  noticed  a  Rook  fluttering  on  the  top  of  a  tall  willow-tree. 
For  a  while  I  stood  and  watched  it  without  realizing  wrhat  was  amiss,  for  it 
first  of  all  fluttered  violently,  without  apparently  making  any  headway,  and 
then  sat  up  on  the  branch  again. 

As  I  drew  nearer  the  Rook  repeated  this  extraordinary  movement  and 
it  occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  it  had  had  its  leg  broken  by  one  of  the  party 
who  were  Rook-shooting  some  days  before,  and  got  the  limb  caught  somehow 
in  a  fork  of  a  branch. 

So  I  proceeded  to  climb  the  tree  with  the  idea  of  discovering  the  reason 
of  the  Rook's  strange  behaviour,  and  found  that,  somehow  or  other,  it  had 
got  some  sheep's  wool  twisted  around  its  leg,  just  above  the  foot,  and  that  this 
in  turn  was  twisted  firmly  round  one  of  the  topmost  branches  of  the  tree. 
I  need  hardly  say  that  I  set  the  terrified  Rook  free,  and  am  confident  that, 
had  I  not  done  so,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  shared  the  fate  of  the 
numerous  small  birds  that  have  become  entangled  in  horse-hair. 

It  may  not  be  generally  known  that  it  is  the  habit  of  the  Mallard,  or  Wild 
Duck,  in  certain  localities  to  nest  in  trees  as  well  as  upon  the  ground,  and  one 
is  inclined  to  wonder  whether  the  peculiarity  is  due  to  an  instinctive  fear  of  the 
foxes.  In  any  case  it  seems  to  originate,  at  least  in  some  districts,  where  foxes 
are  numerous,  and  to  continue  after  they  have  been  exterminated. 

In  one  district  with  which  I  am  particularly  familiar  it  is  not  at  all  unusual 
to  find  a  Wild  Duck's  nest  in  one  of  the  hollow  oak  or  elm-trees  with  which  the 
place  abounds  ;  and  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  young  ducks  when  hatched 
have  to  risk  a  tumble  to  the  ground,  they  generally  seem  to  get  safely  away. 

During  the  early  summer  of  1914,  I  happened  to  be  staying  in  this  district, 
and  went  one  day  to  investigate  a  hollow  elm  which  in  the  previous  year 
contained  the  nest  of  a  Barn  Owl.  I  climbed  the  tree  very  quietly,  as  I  thought 
that  I  might  be  able  to  peep  in  on  the  owl,  and,  if  she  were  sitting,  to  retire 
without  disturbing  her.  I  received  a  rude  shock  when,  just  as  I  was  going  to 
peep  stealthily  into  the  hole,  a  Wild  Duck,  with  a  whirr  of  wings,  dashed  out, 


THE  "SCRUFF" 

OF   THE 
YOUNG   STOAT 


FROM   THE 
STOAT'S   LARDER 


SOME  STRANGE  INCIDENTS  141 

hit  me  in  the  face,  and  nearly  succeeded  in  dislodging  me  !     Inside  the  hollow 
was  the  duck's  nest,  with  some  six  or  eight  eggs  lying  amid  the  down. 

But  the  hollow  tree  had  yet  further  surprises  in  store  for  me,  for  on  visiting 
it  some  weeks  later,  and  climbing  up  with  the  resolve  not  to  jump  if  the  duck 
dashed  out  I  received  perhaps  an  even  greater  shock  than  before.  For,  as 
I  peered  in  to  look  on  to  the  nest,  I  was  met,  not  by  the  form  of  the  flying 
duck,  but  by  an  angry  « tchak '  that  issued  from  somewhere  just  inside  the 
hole. 

As  I  gazed  within,  and  my  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  Hght,  I  thought 
that  the  slight  movements  I  could  distinguish  were  made  by  some  young 
ducks ;  then  it  seemed  that  a  little  form  I  could  make  out  was  a  weasel  with 
its  head  buried  in  the  dry  chips  of  wood  and  dust  at  the  bottom  of  the  hole. 

Presently  the  little  creature — which  I  now  saw  was  a  stoat — raised  its 
head,  and,  advancing  to  within  six  inches  of  my  face,  uttered  its  spitting '  tchak  ' 
— -and  retired  again  up  the  hollow  trunk. 

Presently  I  saw  its  head  appear  from  a  hole  some  12  feet  further  up 
the  tree — another  entrance  to  the  '  chimney  '  which  led  up  from  its  nest. 

I  knew  that  the  chimney  existed,  for  in  the  previous  year  two  Barn  Owls 
had  flown  into  the  hole  where  the  stoat  now  had  her  nest,  and  had  emerged 
from  the  upper  exit.  I  thereupon  climbed  up  to  this  top  hole,  and,  peering  within, 
could  clearly  see  the  stoat  inside.  Three  or  four  times  she  came  to  the  entrance 
of  the  hole — which  by  this  time  smelt  strongly  of  offensive  odour  which  the  stoat 
is  capable  of  emitting— and  '  spat '  at  me  ;  once  when  I  had  my  face  close  to  the 
hole. 

On  climbing  down  again,  and  once  more  looking  into  the  nest  hole,  I  thought 
that  I  could  see  what  seemed  to  be  the  head  of  a  small  rabbit  near  the  nest, 
but  on  reaching  and  withdrawing  it  found  that  it  was  a  young  stoat,  which  its 
mother  had  been  covering  with  rabbit  fur  when  I  first  looked  in. 

I  discovered  that  there  were  altogether  five  of  these  young  stoats  hidden 
amongst  the  duck's  down  and  rabbit  fur  in  the  corner  of  the  hole. 

Such  young  stoats— as  shown  in  one  of  the  illustrations— are  provided  with 
a  '  scruff  '  at  the  back  of  the  neck,  which  consists  of  loose  skin  covered  with 
comparatively  long  hair,  the  hair  being  of  a  much  redder  colour  than  that 
with  which  the  rest  of  the  body  is  covered. 

This  *  scruff '  is  an  instance  of  the  manner  in  which  Nature  provides  for 
the  peculiarities  of  her  children ;  for  it  happens  that  stoats  are  very  much 
addicted  to  the  habit  of  carrying  their  young  from  place  to  place,  and  in  fact 
seldom  allow  them  to  remain  in  one  particular  spot  for  any  length  of  time. 

That  stoats  are  efficient  tree-climbers,  I  have  long  had  reason  to  know, 
for  I  remember  in  my  school-days  climbing  up  to  a  squirrel's  nest  in  a  tall 
oak-tree  in  which  I  expected  to  find  a  family  of  squirrels,  and  my  amazement 
when  a  stoat  darted  out !  Mv  friends  at  the  bottom  of  the  tree  thought  that 


142  WILD   LIFE   IN  THE   TREE   TOPS 

we  might  be  able  to  catch  it— but  the  stoat  avoided  our  clumsy  efforts  with  the 
greatest  ease,  and,  jumping  from  the  top  of  a  tall  bough,  dropped  like  a  piece 
of  wire  to  earth,  and  disappeared. 

And  I  have  also  seen  a  stoat  sitting  on  the  side  of  a  thrush's  nest  in  a  small 
elder-tree,  and  in  spite  of  the  clamour  of  a  collection  of  the  small  birds  of  the 
neighbourhood,  calmly  eating  the  young  thrushes  ! 

An  intimate  friend  of  mine,  and  a  keen  observer,  who  has  had  unusual 
opportunities  of  studying  the  habits  of  stoats,  tells  me  that  he  once  came  upon 
one  of  them  carrying  a  young  one  in  her  mouth,  which  she  dropped  when  he 
gave  chase  to  her.  Knowing  the  extraordinary  devotion  of  the  female  stoat 
to  her  young,  he  decided  to  wait  to  see  if  she  would  return  to  continue  the 
work  in  which  she  had  been  surprised.  Having  waited  for  three  hours,  he 
decided  to  waste  no  more  time,  and  as  he  rose  to  go,  was  on  the  point  of  pro- 
ceeding homeward  when  he  sighted  the  stoat  going  in  the  same  direction  as 
when  he  had  first  seen  her,  and  with  yet  another  youngster  in  her  mouth — 
only  this  time  she  was  making  a  detour  across  the  middle  of  an  open  seven- 
acre  field  !  And  while  he  had  been  waiting  she  had  doubtless  moved  other 
members  of  the  family  in  the  same  manner. 

On  another  occasion  he  discovered  a  thrush's  nest  in  a  hawthorn  hedge 
which  contained  the  half-eaten  remains  of  a  young  rabbit — clearly  the  work 
of  a  stoat.  A  little  further  on  was  another  thrush's  nest  beautifully  lined  with 
rabbit's  fur,  in  which  no  doubt  the  stoat  basked  on  sunny  days  :  yet  a  third 
nest,  also  a  thrush's,  contained  four  eggs,  which  were  covered  with  still  further 
remains  of  the  stoat's  work — in  the  shape  of  half  a  small  rabbit. 

But  perhaps  his  most  extraordinary  experience  was  when,  attracted  by 
the  frantic  screams  of  a  Green  Woodpecker,  he  approached  a  tall  elm-tree, 
and  saw  a  stoat  climbing  up  to  the  Woodpecker's  nesting-hole.  He  stood 
motionless  whilst  the  stoat  reached  and  entered  the  hole.  Presently  it  dis- 
appeared inside,  but  soon  reappeared  again  with  one  of  the  Woodpecker's 
eggs  in  its  mouth.  This  was  dropped  outside  the  hole,  and  of  course 
smashed  on  the  way  down.  Again  the  stoat  disappeared  into  the  hole  and  again 
appeared  with  another  Woodpecker's  egg.  This  time,  however,  he  was  greeted 
by  a  charge  of  shot  which  effectually  ended  his  career. 

On  the  same  day  that  we  discovered  the  young  stoats  in  the  duck's  nest 
we  made  another  extraordinary  discovery — that  of  a  duck  sitting  on  an  old 
Heron's  nest.  The  Heron's  nest  was  at  the  top  of  a  fairly  high  oak-tree,  and 
contained  a  clutch  of  the  Mallard's  eggs.  Unhappily,  it  was  in  an  impossible 
position  to  photograph,  though  I  have  always  regretted  not  being  able  to 
secure  a  pictorial  record  of  such  an  unusual  nesting-place.5 

I  have  altogether  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  among  the  Herons,  and  so 
have  perhaps  undergone  more  queer  experiences  in  their  company  than  else- 
where. 


SOME   STRANGE   INCIDENTS  143 

In  the  summer  of  1920  I  constructed  an  observation  post  overlooking  a 
Heron's  nest ;  and.,  as  explained  in  the  chapter  on  Herons,  arranged  that  its 
construction  should  cover  a  period  of  some  weeks.  Consequently,  when  I 
ultimately  decided  to  try  for  photographs,  I  had  not  visited  the  place  for 
some  days. 

I  was,  nevertheless,  surprised  to  find  inside  it,  on  the  small  piece  of  sack- 
ing that  sagged  down  behind  my  branch-seat,  a  small  handful  of  twigs,  and 
on  them  a  Stock-Dove's  egg  ! 

As  I  could  not  possibly  sit  down,  as  things  were,  without  smashing  the 
egg,  I  picked  up  both  it  and  the  nest,  and  placed  them  in  my  pocket.  When  I 
had  at  length  satisfactorily  arranged  things,  and  was  waiting  for  the  return 
of  the  Heron,  I  decided,  in  order  to  avoid  accidentally  crushing  the  egg,  to 
put  it  in  another  sag  in  the  canvas  on  my  right.  So,  withdrawing  most  of 
the  twigs  from  my  pocket,  I  roughly  arranged  them,  and  then  laid  the  egg  in 
position. 

Some  time  later,  when  my  thoughts  were  concentrated  on  the  young 
Herons  opposite,  I  heard  a  bird  fluttering  about  amongst  the  withered  branches 
with  which  the  observation  post  was  camouflaged,  and  guessed  at  once  that  it 
was  the  Stock-Dove,  who,  since  I  had  closed  the  entrance  after  getting  inside, 
was  unable  to  get  in  ! 

Its  failure,  however,  was  certainly  not  due  to  lack  of  persistence,  for  it 
fluttered  to  the  back  and  front  and  sides,  endeavouring  to  find  an  entrance  ; 
and  eventually  managed  to  squeeze  in  between  the  edge  of  the  canvas  and  a 
branch  of  the  tree. 

For  some  time  it  stood,  with  head  on  one  side,  and  stretched  forward, 
trying  to  make  out,  in  the  darkness,  what  kind  of  a  thing  I  was. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  I  sat  absolutely  still,  for  I  did  not  want  to  scare 
the  bird,  and  in  fact,  welcomed  a  visitor  to  brighten  my  dull  hours  of  waiting. 
And  at  length  the  little  pigeon,  having  satisfied  itself  that  all  was  well,  stepped 
forward  to  where  I  had  placed  the  egg. 

To  my  surprise  he — for  it  was  presumably  the  male  bird — began  to  coo 
heartily,  and  placing  one  foot  on  the  egg,  moved  it  about  as  though  testing 
its  quality,  or  admiring  its  shape;  then  he  lowered  his  head,  and  nibbled 
at  it  with  his  beak,  perhaps  to  satisfy  himself  as  to  its  really  being  the  right  one. 

And  then,  walking  to  the  hole  by  which  he  had  entered,  he  forced  himself 
through  the  opening,  and  fluttered  on  to  a  branch  outside. 

He  was  evidently  dissatisfied  with  the  nest,  for,  having  fluttered  about  once 
more  among  the  decorations  of  the  observation  post,  he  again  returned,  this 
time  with  a  tiny  piece  of  twig— about  1|  inches  long— in  his  beak  ! 

This  fine  contribution  having  been  laid  by  the  side  of  the  egg,  the  little 
pigeon  commenced  to  coo  proudly ;  evidently  well  pleased  with  what  he  had 
done. 


144  WILD   LIFE   IN   THE   TREE   TOPS 

But  at  this  moment— to  my  consternation— I  heard  the  young  Herons  in 
'  my  '  nest  begin  their  excited  '  chun-chun  '  noise,  and  for  a  moment  was  at  a 
loss  as  to  how  I  had  best  act.  For  it  is  quite  certain  that  had  I  made  an  attempt 
to  turn  the  handle  of  the  cinema  camera,  the  pigeon  would  have  dashed  out  in 
a  frenzy  of  fear— and  it  is  equally  certain  that  such  an  exit  would  have  caused 
the  Heron  to  leave  her  family  as  unceremoniously. 

So,  stealthily  reaching  forward  in  the  darkness  with  my  right  hand,  and 
following  the  move  with  a  sudden  grab,  I  had  made  captive  the  astonished 
pigeon  before  she  had  even  time  to  flutter  !  And  transferring  her  to  my  left 
hand,  I  sat  in  readiness  for  the  coming  of  the  Heron. 

And  when  the  time  of  tension  had  passed,  and  the  Heron  was  gone  off 
again,  I  opened  the  entrance  flap  and  threw  the  pigeon  out  into  the  air. 

And  the  incident  did  not  end  there,  for  when  I  next  visited  my  hide 
the  little  pile  of  twigs  supported  two  eggs,  whilst  another  pair  of  Doves  had  made 
a  second  nest — in  the  place  where  the  first  had  been — and  laid  an  egg  on  it. 

I  once  missed  an  extraordinary  photograph  from  this  observation  post 
which  would  have  shown  a  magpie  searching  for  fragments  of  food  beneath  the 
Heron's  nest ;  only  she  persisted  in  keeping  just  out  of  the  picture.  And  then 
I  wish  I  had  been  able  to  get  a  record  of  a  family  of  five  fully  fledged  young 
jays,  who  perched  on  a  branch  outside  my  observation  post,  within  two  feet 
of  my  head,  and  were  fed  on  insects  by  their  devoted  parents. 

But  there  is  much  that  one  just  misses  in  the  way  of  bird  photographs. 

And  there  are  occasions  when  one  secures  by  pure  accident  something 
of  particular  interest,  and  of  unusual  pictorial  value. 

An  instance  of  which  is,  perhaps,  the  following — and  final — story  which, 
like  so  many  of  the  others,  occurred  '  before  the  war.' 

We  were  trying  for  a  photograph  of  the  mature  Heron,  and  when  I  had 
focused  the  camera  on  a  nest  with  certain  pictorial  qualities,  my  brother,  who 
had  frequently  performed  similar  services,  agreed  to  await  the  return  of  the  bird. 

Whilst  I  enjoyed  myself  out  on  the  marshes,  he  patiently  waited  on, 
without  seeing  a  sign  of  the  parent  Herons.  As  time  went  by  he  began  to  feel 
a  little  sceptical  as  to  whether  any  good  results  would  be  achieved ;  when  a 
rabbit,  galloping  through  the  wood,  and  all  unconscious  of  him,  or  his  apparatus, 
blundered  into  the  string  and  made  an  exposure  ! 

I  was  at  the  time  somewhat  annoyed  at  being  called  back ;  and  at  having 
to  climb  the  tree  to  rearrange  things  for  such  a  ridiculous  reason.  But  the 
rabbit  was  quite  forgiven  when,  on  developing  the  negative,  I  discovered  that 
it  had  contributed  towards  my  collection  what  is — without  doubt — one  of 
our  most  successful  achievements. 


Letterpress  printed  by  Butler   &  Tanner,  Frome   and  London, 
Photographs  reproduced  and  printed  by  John  Swain  &  Son,  Ltd.,  London. 


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